



11 



■'■'■■ 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
iMf 

Clm|i. Ci.i|mnrilit T>o. 

Shell'.., 

UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



M 1 






JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 




"Sing thai Song again, Sweet Bird." 



POEMS 



HOME AND COUNTRY 



BY 



PROFESSOR JAMES A.' MARTLING 

AUTHOR OF "LONDON BRIDGE," ETC. 



Elfasstrateto 



{ JA 5p'J 



BOSTON 

JAMES H. EARLE, PUBLISHER 

178 Washington Street 
1885 



{A 



Copyright, 1884. 
By James H. Earle. 



PREFATORY NOTE. 



In compiling a complete collection of the poems of 
James A. Martling, it has seemed best to include some 
written in college days, and at a still earlier period, which, 
I am confident, the author neither valued nor intended to 
republish ; but they have not been excluded from this 
volume, — first, because of his early friends, by whom 
they were prized, and also for the reason that so many 
want to see what a poet wrote in his youthful days. 

Two or three of his later poems were unfinished, yet 
were too good to leave out. Some of his published poems 
have been pronounced "Modern Classics;" and the 
manner in which " London Bridge" has been received, — 
the grateful messages which have reached us from cultured 
critics like the following : — 

"How delightfully he sang! And with what moral 
uplift in his singing he occasionally smites some great 
note forth from the harpstrings. 

" 'Turbulent our passions roll, 
Separating soul from soul.' 

" That is the storm-voice from the seas ! 

" ' But the common bond will break, 
If the strong forsake the weak.' 

" The old, old plaint from weary centuried time." 



6 PRE FA TOR T NO TE. 

Such as these leave no room for a doubt about the 
reception of this volume and of its intrinsic value to all 
thinking people, after the poems have been " kept and 
used," as Dr. Holmes tells us all genuine poetry must be. 
A sketch of the author's life appears here by request. 

In this note I wish to tender my most grateful acknowl- 
edgments to all of those who have so kindly cheered and 
aided me in my work. 

Emily L. Martling. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Prefatory Note 5 

Sketch of Author's Life . . 15 



Musings. 

Sing 

Light from Above . 

Musing 

A Christmas Carol . 
The Engineer's Ride 
The Cow Boy's Vision 



The Dunker's Daughter : A 

Pastoral 44 

College and Other Early 

Poems. 
The Bard's Last Song ... 80 

To My Mother 82 

O Sing that Song Again, Sweet 

Bird 84 

The Evening Wind .... 85 

Forest Worship 86 

A Story by Somebody ... 88 

Oberlin in 1849 9 1 

Freedom's Dawning .... 98 

A Sketch 99 

The Petition 105 

The Test of Friendship . .106 
Lines Written in an Album . 106 
California. — The Invitation . 107 
The Drop no 



page 
College and Other Early 
Poems {continued). 
" Why Stand Ye Here All the 

Day Idle?" 112 

A Winter Song 113 

Sonnet 114 

The Converts' Meeting . . .115 
Lines Written in an Album . 116 

The Parting 117 

To Jeanne 118 

Love Song. Imitation of 

Burns 119 

I am Lonely 120 

Lines Written in an Album . 122 

Pride 123 

Faded Flowers 125 

Miscellaneous. 

Otterbein. Written in an Al- 
bum 126 

The Slaver's Catechumens . 127 
Song of the Brook-ripples . .129 

Sunset 130 

Conscience 131 

A Fable 13 2 

Hymn 134 

Imperfection 135 

Sea-weed 136 

Memory's Harvest . . . .138 
The Eclipse, 1852 .... 140 
Daffodils 14 2 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Miscellaneous (continued). 

Song 143 

Even Me 143 

The Professor's Courtship . .144 
Lottie 145 

Translations from the Ger- 
man. 
To the Setting Sun . . . .147 
Departure from Home . . . 148 

Spring Evening 149 

The Eternal Endurance of 

Friendship 150 

Resignation 151 

The Old Farmer to his Son . 152 

Traveling Song 153 

Archer Song 154 

Contentment 155 

The Old Dragoon to his Cloak 155 
The Boon Companion . . .156 

O Strasburg 157 

The Switzer 157 

Song of Praise 158 

Watchman's Call 159 

The Reaper Death . . . .161 

God Supreme 161 

Ambrosian Song of Praise . . 162 

Christmas 163 

To the Bible 164 

The Village Church Bell . .164 
The Field Marshal .... 165 
The Good Rich Man . . .166 

God's Acre 167 

The Saviour ...... 168 

Spring 169 

Evening Song 169 

May 170 

The Morning 170 

Memory 171 

The Nightingale's Reply . .172 
The Lilies in the Field . .173 
The Song of the Free . . .173 

The Evening 174 

O Switzerland, how art so fair 1 74 

Hunter Song 175 

Farewell, thou Lovely Wood . 176 



page 
Translations from the Ger- 
man (continued). 
At the Burial of a Scholar . 1 yy 

At a Funeral 1 78 

The Resurrection . . . .178 

Christmas Carol 179 

The Cup 1S0 

To the Moon 181 

In a Thunder Storm . . . 182 
The Stork's Advent . . . .182 

Whom I Love 183 

The Stars 183 

Bee Song 184 

Elijah. 

Prelude 185 

Book 1 187 

Book II 191 

Book III 200 

Song 206 

Book IV 207 

Book V 214 

War Poems. 

To Abram Lincoln .... 224 

James Buchanan 225 

From the North 227 

The Panic 228 

A Dream 229 

We Mourn 230 

Noli me tangere 231 

The St. Louis Slave Pen . . 234 

David 236 

A Fast Day Psalm . . . 236 

The War 238 

St. Louis, May 8th, 1861 .241 

The Comet 251 

European Recognition . . . 252 
Monody for S. A. Douglas . 253 
To Abraham Lincoln, 1862 . 254 

Day-break 255 

How Long, O God ? . . . 255 

Pittsburg 257 

Antietam 258 

An Invitation 260 



CONTENTS. 



9 



PAGE 

War Poems {continued). 

To the Night Blooming Ce- 

reus 262 

Fredericksburg 263 

Arkansas Post 265 

The Rebels' Hyena Song . . 267 
Of Arming the Slaves . . . 268 
The Pic-nic 269 



The Sorceress 

Thanksgiving Hymn, 1863 • 
The Price of Peace . . . 
The Call for Five Hundred 

Thousand More .... 

Song 

The Murderer 

Jan. 11, 1865 

The Repentant Rebel . . . 
Give Me Back My Missing 

Ones 



277 
279 
2S0 

2S3 
2S5 

286 
Give Back My Missing Ones . 288 

Songs and Hymns. 

Our Land 290 

Sleep Boys in Blue .... 290 
Down by the Old Garden Gate 292 

Mishawaka 293 

Peace 294 

A Psalm of Thanksgiving . 295 
Come to Our Land .... 296 
The Republicans are Looking 

Blue 297 

Thou art Coming With the 

Spring 298 

Over the Sea Dwells My Dar- 
ling 299 



New Sagas. 

Prelude 

The Wail of Atlas .... 

The Curse of Umbawa ! . . 

The Prophesy of Ulala . . 

The Slave 

The Remarkable Adaptedness 
of the African to His Con- 
dition as a Slave . . . .312 



301 
302 
3°7 
3°9 
310 



PAGE 

New Sagas {continued). 

Gentle Mary 314 

The Egyptian Sphynx . . .319 

The Answer 320 

The Song of Hesperus . . . 322 

Miscellaneous. 

Jerusalem 327 

!S6o 333 

Despair. ....... 336 

The Burnt Offering .... 337 

Charit y * • 339 

The Good Man's Evening . . 340 

Women 341 

The Young Mother .... 342 

Marion Lee 343 

Graduation Ode 345 

The Woman of Samaria . . 346 
I am a Boy Again .... 348 
Sing to Me Gently .... 349 

Beyond 350 

Chapel Hill Road, N. C. . .351 

De Profundis 353 

July 4th, 1870 354 

The City 356 

Skater's Song 357 

Secundem Artem 358 

The Erl King, — Goethe . . 359 

The New Year 360 

To theOricle -361 

Sonnet 362 

The Hermit of Niagara . . 363 

My Dead One 365 

Come ! 366 

The Path of The Just . . .370 
Written for an Album . . .371 

Sonnet 371 

The Sassafras 372 

The Jewel of a Nose . . . 273 
To the Members of the Sas- 
safras Club 376 

To My Mistress' Eyebrow . 277 

The Jewel of a Girl . . .27^ 

The Sister of Charity . . . 380 

Bierstadt's " Storm in the 

Rocky Mountains " . . .381 



IO 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Miscellaneous {continued). 

Ad Uxorem 382 

The Bee to the Blossom . . 383 

Flowers 384 

Thunder Storm in the Moun- 
tains . • 385 

Flowers for the Sick . . . 386 

Songs. 

Pine Grove Songs .... 389 



Ad Beatificatam. 
I. Wrecked 
II. The Message 

III. Snow . . 

IV. Spring . . 
The Journey 



V. 
VI. 



Unveiling the Statue 397 



VII. Angel Neighbors . 

VIII. April 

IX. In the Mountains . 

X. The Falling Bowlder 

XI. The Destroyer 

XII. Spring . , 

XIII. Antonio . . 

XIV. Dead . . . 
XV. Vision . . 

XVI. Love's Miracle 

XVII. Despair . . 

XVIII. The Ascent . 

XIX. Aspiration . 

XX. Desolate. . 

XXI. Dead Hector 

XXII. Midway . . 

XXIII. The Specter 

XXIV. The Valley . 



London Bridge 408 



394 
394 
395 
396 
396 



397 
398 
398 
399 
400 
400 
401 
401 
402 
402 

403 

404 
404 
405 
405 
406 
406 
407 



Lichens. 

We be the Earth's First Chil- 
dren 434 

Meat on Friday 435 

The Good 438 

Whittier's " Eternal Good- 
ness" 438 

A Sermon 440 



page 
Lichens {continued). 

To Calvin L. Porter, Student 

of Medicine 441 

Jimmy O'Neal • . . . . 444 

Sweet the Grave 446 

Acrostic 447 

My Own 448 

For My Darling 448 

Where is My Nem ? . . . 449 

My Ti easure 450 

To My Wife. Christmas, 1878 451 

Acrostic 452 

Written in Katie's Album . 452 

The Tramp 453 

The Tramp's View of It . .455 

Truman Griffin 458 

Sergeant Kirkland .... 460 

San Antonio 464 

The Miller . . . . . .465 

Chris Dean 471 

The Ke 473 

The Trustee 475 

" Our Poet's Beauties " 476 

The Painter's Dream . . .479 
Ana, Zipporah, Huldah . . 486 
The Golden Wedding . . .487 
Sunset 489 

Oberlin 491 

Ripple Marks. 

Ripples 520 

Los Angeles 520 

Pierre 522 

The Cross in the Breakers . 525 
Song of the Workingmen . . 526 

The Exodus 528 

Starving 533 

Not a Word 536 

Hidden Great 540 

Midnight Worship .... 542 
El Monte — Hymn .... 543 

The Waters 543 

In Loco Parentis .... 545 

Arabia 547 

Puente Hills 550 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Ripple Marks {continued). 

Flitting 555 

The Yellow Fever, 1878 . .555 

Eugenie 558 

The Reaper 561 

My Calves Come Running 

Home 563 

Love's Response . . . .564 
Hassan ben Hassan . . . .565 
The Convict Clerk .... 567 

Wait and Hope 570 

Early Piety 571 



PAGE 

Ripple Marks {continued). 

June— Song 573 

Pomona — Song 574 

Spadra — Song 575 

The Miner 577 

Corn 579 

Powers' Greek Slave . . .584 

The Train 585 

Whispers 585 

Mount Saint Anthony . . . 586 

Death 588 

Finis 589 



SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE. 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 



The Martlings of this country are all descended 
from one family, who came over from Holland and 
helped settle New Amsterdam (New York) city. The 
great grandfather of James was killed during the 
revolutionary war by refugees ; and was buried in the 
old Dutch churchyard at Tarrytown, N. Y. : his grand- 
father was also buried there, and was Washington 
Irving's " Diedrich Knickerbocker," as the following 
quotation from a letter written by James A. Martling 
will show : — 

"Yes, the Tarrytown Martlings are our own very 
folks, and there is no other family in the country. 
How could you have forgotten? My grandfather, 
Abraham Martling, the companion of Williams, Pauld- 
ing and Vanert in revolutionary times, and the oracle 
of Washington Irving— Diedrich Knickerbocker him- 
self — lived and died at Tarrytown: lived there with 
his aged wife Fanny — Francis Rower — and there I 
saw them both, and heard them talk Dutch together, 



16 JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 

and ate of grandmother's Dutch cheese, and spelled 
wife for them, but could not spell knife, a suggestive 
fact at so tender an age, foretokening how to the end 
the affections should in me predominate over bread- 
and-butter caseknives, and whittling-out-a-living jack- 
knives, and all other knives soever, especially those 
that are suggestive of labor and mischief. Didn't I 
tell you of grandfather's house and of the tree which 
grew through it after his death, because nobody would 
claim the property, the quarrel among the heirs being 
not to get it, but not to get it ? Have you forgotten 
that historic Tammany Hall stands on Martling prop- 
erty, or that your whilom husband was born in New 
York city ? What sleepy influences float from the 
Enchanted Valleys of San Bernardino to make you so 
oblivious of the past ? " 

The father of the poet, John Martling, although a 
mason by trade, was also a Methodist minister in New 
York city, but, after going to Indiana to live, stopped 
preaching, because the Methodists in that section 
thought his doctrine too liberal and called a council to 
give him a trial ; but after the meeting was opened he 
arose and told them that the matter in dispute lay 
between them and the Bible, he had nothing to do 
with it ! He then took his hat and walked out. 

In early life he married Maria Lockwood, who was 
descended from the Scotch and English, and by this 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. \J 

union was blessed with fourteen children. James 
Abraham, the fifth child, who was named for his two 
grandfathers, was born in New York city, June 22, 
1825. When he was six years old, his father moved 
to Buffalo, N. Y. ; but in 1837 settled on the St. Joseph 
river, in Mishawaka, northern Indiana, where the house 
that he then built still stands. 

James was sickly when a child. His school life 
commenced in an " infant school," in the city of his 
birth. His teachers, even at that tender age, con- 
sidered him a boy of unusual promise and used to call 
him out to " speak " for the entertainment of chance 
visitors. 

Before their removal from New York an incident 
occurred which illustrates the early development of a 
strong will which, in after life, carried him successfully 
through many a battle against oppression and wrong, 
and also sustained life through much severe physical 
suffering. 

A fire broke out at night near their home, the 
bright light of which awakened James and his brother 
Warren, and, thinking themselves in danger, they 
sprang out of bed but could not wait to dress, and each 
little boy grabbed what he supposed to be his pants, — 
one catching hold of one leg and the other of the other 
leg, of one and the same pair of pants, they started for 
the hall stairs — each little Titan pulling with a 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 



might and main that would have pulled the pair in 
twain, but for the stout thread and stitches the good 
mother had so carefully placed there. So absorbed 
were they in the struggle for justice that they neither 
noticed the open hall door or the faces peering in ; nor 
did the struggle cease till they found themselves on 
the side walk, clad in nothing but their shirts, and 
surrounded by a crowd of amused spectators. Who 
got the pants, of course, in after years remained a 
disputed point ! 

While very small he eagerly read whatever came in 
his way, which was generally limited to the Bible and 
a few other religious books. He often wrote verses 
but usually destroyed them before other eyes saw 
them. 

After their removal to Mishawaka, he and a brother 
ran away one day to earn some money, but getting 
tired and hungry, gladly accepted the offer of a ride 
back, from a passing neighbor, and reached home be- 
fore their absence had excited alarm. When he 
arrived at the age of fourteen, his father said, " James, 
you are fond of your books, I can't give you an edu- 
cation, for I have a large family, but I will give you 
your time and you can educate yourself." And so at 
that tender age he started out on foot, with his worldly 
possessions tied up in a pockethandkerchief. As to 
his first stopping-place it is uncertain, and we only 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 



know that, being small of his age and rather frail, he 
found difficulty in obtaining employment, when once 
out in the big world where he had supposed there was 
an abundance of work to be had for the asking ; how- 
ever, he at length stopped at a country hotel, in 
northern Indiana, I think, where the host asked if he 
could " tend bar ? " " Yes, sir ! " the discouraged boy 
replied, with the mental reservation, — " Till I can do 
better." He was promised board and clothes, and to 
work he went. Men came who urged him to " have a 
drink," but he always refused, nor did he taste the 
stuff excepting on two occasions, when some men 
disputed about the kind of liquor and then he only 
tasted it to settle the quarrel. In after years, when 
asked if he was not afraid of acquiring a drinking 
habit at this time, he said — " No, I had been taught 
better at home, and felt sure that I could keep from 
it." He often had small sums of money given him by 
the patrons of the bar, which he at once invested in 
books that he studied in leisure hours. But soon an 
accident occurred which frightened him not a little. 
Every morning he had the bar-room to put in order, 
and one morning he broke a lamp chimney, which he 
supposed was quite expensive, and knowing the land- 
lord to be high-tempered, he ran out and hid down 
under a bridge close by ; and, while wondering when 
he could get money enough to pay for it, heard the 



20 JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 

loud, angry tones of the man calling him and saying 
— "If I catch the careless" — James didn't wait to 
hear the rest, but climbed up from his hiding place 
and ran away as fast as he could, without his precious 
books ! 

With but a few small pieces of money in his pock- 
ets, and not even a bundle this time, he started toward 
Cleveland, Ohio ; sleeping in hay-lofts, and buying 
milk or a few crackers to eat by the way, he went on 
till overtaken by a Cleveland gentleman who asked 
him to ride, and after kindly inquiring where he was 
bound and what were his plans, asked how he would 
like to "tend store ? " Finding him more than willing 
for such work, when they arrived in Cleveland, he 
secured him a position in a "West India goods store." 
In a short time, however, the proprietor failed because 
of the hard times, and, after making fruitless inquiries 
for work in other stores, the persevering boy started 
afoot and alone again, but this time toward Chicago. 
It was at this time that he learned to walk, although 
the experience was severe, and in after life he enjoyed 
this exercise better than many stronger men, and, 
from choice, walked nearly all over the state of Ohio 
and over a large part of Illinois. The new Western 
Emporium was then talked of as having a marvellous 
future destiny, so he thought it a good place for him 
to earn money in ; but the then long journey from 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 



Cleveland to Chicago could not be accomplished, as 
now, in a few hours ; so, making his way slowly, he 
stopped at farm houses for work, and at one place a 
doctor engaged him to cut "the winter's wood," but, 
after working two or three days, the doctor found him 
one morning sick in bed. " You are not strong 
enough for such work ! " said he. " I see you know a 
good bit about books " (he had previously drawn him 
out in this direction, and had expressed surprise at 
his knowledge, especially of Latin, which he was 
studying without a teacher). " How would you like 
school-teaching ? The teacher here can't manage our 
school ; I am one of the committee and can give it to 
you." "I should like to try it," said James, "but am 
afraid I don't know enough." "I'll risk that! "re- 
plied the doctor, and he soon had him established as 
teacher over boys some of whom were older and larger 
than himself. And thus began the life work of the 
" Teacher of teachers." Some stouter man cut the 
wood, while the teacher had a pleasant home in a good 
family with the privilege of using the doctor's library. 
\fter the winter school closed, he finished his journey 
to Chicago, where he learned the printer's trade, and, 
becoming a rapid worker, earned money enough to take 
him to college : though a most self-denying life he led, 
studying in his room at night without a fire ; and, in 
the daily practice of economy, he was often dressed 



22 JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 

in a linsey-woolsey frock, yet it was then that the 
Chicago girls first gave him the name of " The hand- 
some Hoosier." 

His mind had long been on Yale for his college 
course, but, becoming strong in his antislavery feel- 
ings, he decided that it was his duty to go to a college 
which had avowed antislavery principles; and so he 
was educated at Oberlin. 

To please the lady of his early choice, he went 
through the theological course also, after graduating 
from college, but always said that he would never 
settle as the pastor of any church, nor did he, though 
urged to do so. Preaching was to him agreeable work, 
but he was physically unfitted for pastoral labor. So, 
after supplying a pulpit for one year, he accepted a 
chair at Otterbein University, Ohio, and was after- 
wards professor of mathematics, I think, at Wheaton 
College, 111. He taught, too, in St. Louis high school. 
In early life, while in college, he used to spend his 
vacations teaching country schools, and one winter 
had a bright-eyed boy, a few years younger than him- 
self, named James A. Garfield, our late President, 
in whom he was much interested : and the last letter 
which he wrote for the press — taking up some points 
which had been overlooked in the campaign speeches 
— was to help in the election of this early pupil, 
who was so soon to follow him into that great un- 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 2$ 

changing world, on the threshold of which he already 
stood. 

He had an intense enjoyment of nature, in all of its 
vastness, especially of mountains, forests and streams, 
and often walked many miles to be alone with this 
Great Teacher. 

In his thinking he embraced humanity, and his 
philosophical ideas were in advance of the age. So 
sensitive was his nervous organization that he, as it 
were, felt and saw everything ! Enjoying life at 
times with an intensity seldom equalled, at other 
times, on account of disease, suffering so keenly from 
nervous depression, that none but his nearest friends 
could, even partially, understand it : nor did any 
others get at his inner life, though many thought they 
knew him. 

He delighted in, next to the Bible, the old classic 
poets ; and had translated Homer's Iliad in the origi- 
nal hexameter, but had only published the first book. 
The other books have been called for here and 
elsewhere, but are not as yet published. 

His lectures were not fully written out, as he extem- 
porized a good deal, so are not in a condition to pub- 
lish. Some of his early poems will be remembered 
by western editors as coming out under the novi de 
plume of " Donald Bean." 

He was exceedingly modest, never pushing himself 



24 JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 

into notice, yet was ever equal to an emergency, and 
during the exciting campaign for the election of 
Abraham Lincoln, in i860, he spoke on the plat- 
form when needed, also at different times during the 
war which followed : but would never accept of any 
political office though urged to do so. 

Like "The Master," in the "Poet at the Breakfast 
Table," he had studied the "three learned profes- 
sions," in his search for knowledge, but the teacher's 
work he considered second to no other in point of influ- 
ence, and believed that his beloved America, in time, 
would accord fitting prominence and honor to the pro- 
fession which holds such a vast moulding power ! 

He was twice married, and by his first wife had 
three children, one son and two daughters ; and was 
an affectionate husband and father : although very 
careful of his own personal expenditures, yet he was 
generous to all others, nor could he turn any away 
from his door hungry. 

His first wife he buried at Webster Grove, Missouri, 
and that sore trouble, combined with his prior ill 
health, fastened upon him consumption. Suffering 
severely from this disease he went to Southern Cali- 
fornia for his health, and during his first years there, 
was so much better, at times, that his second wife, and 
others, learned to think that he might live many 
years. 



JAMES ABRAHAM MARTLING. 25 

He was beloved by teachers and scholars, and made 
many friends in this new home, as the following quo- 
tations from local papers, written at the time of his 
death, indicate : 

" It becomes our painful duty to announce the death 
of Professor James A. Martling. His last illness was 
severe, lasting but a little more than a week, and ter- 
minating as suddenly as an earthquake shock to his 
numerous friends. 

" He was a classical scholar of ripe erudition, a gen- 
tleman of fine presence, polite and elegant manners, 
and much esteemed for his rare modesty and sterling 
worth. He was a teacher of teachers — an edu- 
cator in the broadest sense of the term. During a 
quarter of a century of professional life he has left 
his impress upon the lives of thousands who were 
and are to be among the best citizens of the Re- 
public. No words of eulogy can add to his splendid 
record. H." 

As before intimated, his disease was pronounced 
consumption of the bowels, from which he had suffered 
severely for years ; but in Los Angeles, California, on 
Saturday, at six o'clock P. M. October 30, 1880, God's 
rest came to him. 

In this last sickness he called his wife to his bed- 
side and exacted the promise that no words of eulogy 
should be used at his funeral services, and that he 



26 JAMES ABRAHAM MANTLING. 

should be buried in the simplest possible manner, in 
the little burying ground under the shadow of Elephant 
Hill, at Spadra; — where his first California home had 
been. But though this request was strictly adhered 
to — the loving deeds — the exquisite flowers, in which 
he seemed to be literally buried — coming as they did 
from teachers, scholars and other friends, proved a 
most fitting and eloquent eulogy. 

Emerson's words in " Good bye " are appropriate to 
his quiet resting place : 

" I am going to my own hearth-stone, 
Bosomed in yon green hills alone — 
A secret nook in a pleasant land, 
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned ; 
Where arches green, the livelong day, 
Echo the blackbird's roundelay, 
And vulgar feet have never trod 
A spot that is sacred to thought and God." 

The Editor. 



COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. 



MUSINGS. 



SING. 



CING, — though thy voice be the faintest that 
^ wakens 

Melodies sleeping in forests and caves ; 
Sing, — though thy song be the weakest that beckons 
Memories blessed and hopes from their graves ! 
The breezes shall bear it 
To some saddened spirit, 
Who gladdened shall hear it, 
And joyful draw near it. 

Shame to the poet who writes but for glory ! 

Shame to the harp of the shopman whose strings, 
Mute to the finger of Passion or Story, 

Quicken to life when the gold plectrum rings ! 
But honored he whose is 
The gift of the Muses, 
Who honoring uses 
And never abuses. 



30 MUSINGS. 



He from whose soul burst the fountains of feeling, 

Rising to piety, love, country, home ! — 
Angel-touched pools-of-Siloam of healing 

Sunk not in sand and not wasted in foam ! — 
Who cares not nor ever 
Once thinks if he's clever, 
And yet ceases never 
In worthy endeavor. 

Few — few are the gifted whose thoughts like the 
mountains 
Loom grandly for aye through the dim haze of time, 
But many and happy whose fancies like fountains 
May sparkle with spirit and bubble with rhyme ! 
Then all sing that can sing ! 
Let woman and man sing ! 
Life's pleasures enhancing, 
And all good advancing ! 



LIGHT FROM ABOVE. 

T T was the summer and a Sabbath day ; 

An open Bible on the pulpit lay ; 
To aid the preacher's sight, grown dim with age 
The gaslight shone upon the holy page, 
When, like the covenant angel come again, 
A golden sunbeam fluttered through the pane, 
Flew to the book, and lit each sacred line 
And reaffirmed its origin Divine ! 
Pale grew the taper, when the light from Heaven 
Shone on the word that Heaven's self had given ! 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 3 1 

The preacher's eye beamed with the holy glow, 
His white locks grew a halo on his brow, 
And some believed that lip and soul were lit 
Of Heaven that day, and won new life from it ! 



MUSING. 

T SIT by the fire this cold winter morning, 

The red coal lies under, and on the top lies 
A log of green hickory, that sings in its burning, 
As a martyr might sing ere he mounts to the skies. 

The red coal lies under — great lumps of bitumen, 
One cheek in the dawning and one in the night, 

From their own substance feeding the flame they con- 
sume in, 
They die, and in dying give being to light. 

So — so would I perish. No matter what life is : 

Be it in the forest, be it in the mine ! 
If life and if song the ripe fruit of its strife is, 

The flame-eaten heart is becoming divine. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

HPHE solemn midnight, hushed and still, 

Held all the world in quiet sleep, 
Save that the shepherds on the hill 

Were watching o'er their herded sheep. 



32 MUSINGS. 



The clouds, as if by angels led 

Through the horizon's sapphire bars, 

Seemed like a whiter flock that fed 
On the blue hills, 'mid moon and stars. 

When suddenly like midday shone 
A heavenly host those clouds among, 

The angels of the Holy One, 

Filling the heavens with their song ! 

That, from the arches of the sky 

Again re-echoed and again : 
" Glory to God — to God on high ! 

Peace on the earth ! Good will to men ! " 



THE ENGINEER'S RIDE. 

New Orleans, La., 1S73. 

[ SIT in my kingly howdah 
* On the back of my bonny steed, 
As through the dewy forests 

She flies with speed — with speed ! 
Like a sunbeam, through the forests, 

From the bow of the morning freed I 

The rise and fall of her haunches 

Rouses my blood like wine, 
While the breath of her foaming nostrils 

Curls up through cypress and vine, 
To mingle with incense of roses 

And breath of the balsamy pine I 



THE ENGINEER'S RIDE. $3 

I list to the clang of her footfalls 

As they rebound from the track, 
And their rhythmic beat is music 

That comes in echoes back, 
With the shout of the dancing shadows 

In the forests solemn and black ! 

But what care I for the shadows, 

Or aught we leave behind ? 
I only enjoy the pleasure 

Of riding like the wind, — 
To all but the thrilling ecstasy 

Of the present moment blind ! 

My darling was born in the mountain ; 

Of elfin race is she : 
The daughter of fire and fountain, 

The child of the flame and the sea ; 
And the furious thud of her passionate blood 

Tells of her pedigree ! 

Vulcan gave her her sinews, 

And Venus gave her her heart ; 
And both gave strength and beauty 

To blend in every part ; 
To mingle perfection of nature 

With the perfection of art. 

O, never the match for my darling 

Was courser of Tartar blood ! 
O, never so fleet was filly 



34 MUSINGS. 



Of Bedouin sisterhood ! 
Or swiftest steed selected 
For the Soldan's royal stud ! 

On in thy course, my darling ! 

On like the fiery star, 
That through the vaulted midnight 

Urges his blazing car ! — 
Or the flame-ensandalled angel 

Through the purer heights afar ! 

'Tis not thy fault, my darling — 

No ! — not thy fault nor mine, 
When ruthless wheels go craunching 

Through skull and breast and chine ! — 
And crush to a pulp unsightly 

The human form divine ! 

When all the ground is strown 
With corpses bleeding and grim ; 

When bone is sundered from bone, 
And limb is shredded from limb ; 

And the air is drunk with a surging 
And sulphurous devil's hymn ! 

When flame and blood are battling, 
And curses commingle with prayer, 

And we know when the groaning has ceased 
Who 'tis that is master there — 

And to each of his clamorous whelps 
Death tosses a greedy share ! 



THE ENGINEER'S RIDE. 35 

When a mother's breast is bespattered 

With pitiful, bloody rain : — 
A trace of baby hair, 

And a plash of baby brain ; 
And a broken arm gropes out 

For a missing form in vain ! 

Hist ! softly, softly, darling ! 

Tame down thy thews of brass 
Hist ! gently, gently, darling ! 

Ere evil come to pass ! 
And our eyes be appalled with strange 

And blasting dew on the grass ! 

Ha ! how the homes of mortals 

A flashing moment gleam ! 
Ha, ha ! how fields and forests 

Rush by us in a stream ! 
As if they fled from the cloudy 

Coursers of Elohim ! 

And now we pass my cottage ! 

I see my wife at the door, 
Tossing aloft my baby — 

My gem, my Kohinoor ! 
And Johnny ! Why was not Johnny 

Holding her pinafore ? 

He's always there, my filly ! 

Watching for you and me ; 
And he says if he can, when he is a man, 



36 MUSINGS. 



An engineer he'll be, 
And he'll have an engine like papa's 
And a Johnny there to see ! 

But on ! thy nerves all tension ! 

Thy muscles upon the rack ! 
But why dost thou pant, my filly ? — 

And why do thy sinews slack ? 
And what is the fireman shouting? — 

" A child ! — a child on the track ! " 

Hold ! till I clutch thy forelock ! 

Hold ! till I reach me down ! 
And trust thee alone for a moment — 

A little moment alone ! 
There, filly ! we saved the baby ! 

Great God ! 'Tis my Johnny ! — my own ! 



THE COW-BOYS VISION. 

I. 

"DEHIND the wolden, 

And sky all golden, 
The sun, the soldan. 

Of day, reposes ; 
The clouds that over 
His 'campment hover, 
Seem fields of clover 

And beds of roses. 



THE COW-BOY'S VISION. 37 

And all the meadow 
Is light and shadow, 
An Eldorado 

Of richest network, 
Where every brakelet 
Along the lakelet 
Becomes a flakelet 

Of elfin fretwork. 

The kine, long vagrant 
O'er blooms conflagrant 
And pastures fragrant 

And thymy-scented, 
Along the edges 
Of groves and hedges, 
Knee-deep in sedges, 

Now stand contented. 

Their eyes illumine 
With something human 
And kin to woman 

In their expression, 
A misty splendor 
Suffused and tender, 
A dreamy render 

Of adoration. 

Or with their seethen 
Flanks all enwreathen 
With mists, mead-breathen, 
They lie a-resting ; 



38 MUSINGS. 



Nor visions sombre, 
Nor cares that cumber 
Our broken slumber 

Their dreams molesting. 



The steerling weesome, 
So blithe and lissome, 
The all-day-gleesome, 

As Mirth's own brother, 
Now nestles surely, 
Snugly, securely, 
Glumly, demurely, 

Close to his mother. 

And through the bushes 
The rabbit pushes, 
And in the rushes 

Pauses to listen ; 
Or skips and ambles 
In antic gambols, 
While through the brambles 

His great eyes glisten. 

And to its chamber 
Where vinelets clamber, 
With cups of amber, 

The cat -bird creepeth ; 
And from the thistle, 
The quail's shrill whistle 
Shoots like a missile, 

And then he sleepeth, 



THE COW-BOY'S VISION. 39 



While steer and heifer 
Drink in the zephyr, 
Along the sapphire 

Ripple and warble 
The stars their choral, 
While all the floral 
Welkin auroral 

Pales into marble. 

ii. 
The cow-boy sitting 
While day is flitting, 
Is half unwitting 

The influences 
Serene and vernal, 
That flow supernal 
From heights eternal 

O'er all his senses. 

Nor in the dairy 
His visions tarry, 
But scenes of fairy 

And necromancy 
Shut out the present 
With opalescent 
And iridescent 

Creatures of fancy. 

The clouds around him 
And walls that bound him 
From depths profound, dim, 
Weird and mysterious ; 



40 MUSINGS. 



Or towers shaken 
By forms that waken 
To threat and beckon 

With mien imperious. 

Or seas, all yeasty, 
Mobile, and misty ; 
Or a sacristy 

Solemn and holy, 
Whence o'er the crystal, 
Robed like a vestal, 
Sober and festal, 

The moon moves slowly. 

And shadows dusky, 
In garments musky, 
Walk through the bosky 

Willows and larches ; 
And in the dingle, 
And on the shingle, 
Their forms commingle 

In solemn marches. 

From cells secluded 
In temples wooded, 
The dews gray-hooded, 

With cheeks all ashen, 
Bring basins chrysmal 
From depths abysmal, 
For rites baptismal, 

To the procession. 



THE COW-BOY'S VISION. 4 1 

III. 
The boy still idle. 
As flows the tidal 
That marks the bridal 

Of day and starlight, 
While steer and heifer 
Drink in the zephyr, 
Watches the chafer 

Trim up its carlight, 

His brain all teeming 
With fact and seeming, 
With truth and dreaming, 

He fondly lingers, 
While on his tresses 
The light wind presses 
Her soft caresses 

With gentle fingers. 

One in her coffin 

Thus oft — how often ! — 

His cares would soften 

With touch so breathlike ! 
Her voice — how tender ! 
Her form — how slender ! 
Her brow — what splendor ! — 

But ah ! — how deathlike ! 

Now on her pillow, 
Beneath the willow, 
Beneath the billow 

Of grass and blossom, 



42 MUSINGS. 



She sleeps ! — his mother ! — 
Pressing another, 
His baby-brother, 

Close to her bosom ! 

Yes, sleeps she under 
The willows yonder ; 
But lo ! as sunder 

The cloudy masses, 
Adown the ether, 
Where stars enwreathe her, 
With clouds beneath her, 

Her spirit passes ! 

A form drawn faintly — 
So pale and saintly, 
And smiling gently 

On him all lonely ; 
In her demeanor 
As he had seen her 
In life — serener 

And calmer only. 

With eyes so fawnlike, 
And brow so dawn-like ; — 
Her robe so lawn-like 

All gemmed and beryled ; 
No son of Aaron, 
No rose of Sharon, 
Nor Aldebaran 

E'er so apparelled. 



THE COW-BO T'S VISION. 43 

Yet seemed she stately, 
Moved more sedately 
Than when sne lately 

Kissed and caressed him, — 
Than when she lying, 
Moaning and dying, 
With her last sighing 

Consoled and blessed him. 

Tis gone ! — The vision 
That seemed Elysian 
Was a derision 

Of expectation, — 
A thing fantastic, 
From clouds elastic 
Wrought by a plastic 

Imagination. 

Yet still a moonbeam, 
As if a throne-beam, 
Shed there its own beam, 

Appeared to linger — 
A beatific 
Hieroglyphic 
Of the omnific 

And unseen finger ! 



THE 



DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

A PASTORAL. 



T7OR thee, St. Joseph, thou most beautiful 

And most unsullied of Undina's train, 
The fays and elves of Indiana cull 
The brightest dews, the clearest drops of rain ; 
For thee, the wild flowers all their goblets drain ; 
And down thine oaks gold-mailed sunbeams leap 
To dance a measure to the mad refrain 
Of sportive rills ; or in thy lucid deep, 
Through the long afternoons of summer sleep and sleep ! 

ii. 
Along thy banks are dells Arcadian ; 
There dwell blue harebells, there the bath-flower blows, 
And there the rose — the rose of Michigan, 
About the gnarled oak her graceful garland throws, 
And at her over-maiden boldness glows 
And blushes into bloom ; till from the tawn 
And rugged boles unwonted beauty shows ; 
As if enamored butterflies thereon 
Were swarmed, or there were tangled some lost cloud 
of dawn ! 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 45 

III. 
Over thy bosom arrowy bateaux 
Were wont to bear their freight of precious wheat ; 
Above thy voice the boatman's shout arose, 
The moonlight glancing from the naked feet 
And arm and breast of the toil-trained athlete ; 
Peer not thou through the bushes, which apart 
Thy glistening eyes reveal, O maid discreet, 
Or — thou shalt be the prey of Cupid's art ! 
Alack ! sweet maid, thou hast already lost thy heart. 

IV. 

Upon the river banks the highway ran, 

There the packed wagon of the pioneer 

Pressed to the west with the long caravan ; 

At night the camp fires glowed ; the startled deer 

Ventured upon the novel scene to peer, 

And the long rifle rang ; the hunter's skill 

Made sure the game and noble was the cheer ! 

Beneath the trees they supped — they slept — and still 

Night with her solemn stars watched river and vale and 

hill. 

v. 

O Night — unchanging mother and queen of all ! 

As God is king and father ! In the wood 

And in the city, thou, imperial 

And tender, holdest all the world subdued : 

Beneath thy sceptre, Discord not nor Feud, 

Children of Day, their madness can, while thou 

Holdest them charmed, with their infernal brood ! 

To thee the poorest and the kingliest bow ! 

A tender mother and stern empress, Night, art thou. 



46 THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

VI. 

St. Joseph ! Oft at night have I beside 

Thy rayless depths been seated, and have seen 

The stars new born uprising from the tide 

Of the blue sea above ; and from the sheen 

Of dancing ripples and from depths serene 

Thou gavest them back their manifold beauty ; even 

As my own spirit, raptured and impregn 

With the bright vision, inwrought with its leaven, 

Caught and gave back again the light of higher heaven. 

VII. 

Thus in the night, and through the summer day 
Beneath the shade of oak or evergreen, 
Or lime or odorous wood, I frequent lay 
And carefully my angle dropped between 
The granite boulders, where at play were seen 
The glistening perch, or cat, or horned dace ; 
Or chance some hungry pickerel, or the sheen 
Of silvery bass the waves would interlace ! 
True silver were indeed not unmeet for the place ! 

VIII. 

For never crystal stream of fairy land, 

Nor mountain ripple from the glacier fed, 

Was more pellucid : I could take my stand 

Upon the bank above, and see the bed 

Far either side, with costly gems outspread, 

Sapphires, carnelians, beryls, sculptured shells — 

A princely life my favorite fishes led. 

Lobsters and turtles dwelt in jeweled cells, 

Hung with green moss, and lit with diamond spiracles. 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 47 

IX. 

And on the undulating slopes were there 

Bright oaken groves and fields of tasseled maize, 

And hewn log houses, where grave Dunkers were, 

Men of long beards and woolsey warmuses, 

Not neighborly and of unchristian ways, 

If one may credit rumor — to do which 

Is an unsafe thing in common — rumor says 

They were not undefiled of sinful pitch, 

But had through falsifying silver coin grown rich. 

x. 

From foulest soils the richest flowers spring, 

From darkest mines the brightest gems are wrought, 

Nor then regard it as a marvel thing 

That these grave Dunkers' daughters should be thought 

The fairest maidens nature ever wrought ; 

Nor were they fair in home esteem alone ; 

No dark-eyed damsel for the Sultan brought, 

At Newport none, at Saratoga none, 

More beautiful than many a Dunker's daughter shone. 

XL 

Oft have I, with my basket in my hand, 

Upon the Indian Reservation near, 

Wandered alone, through sunflecked openings and 

Over the grassy glades — for that was where 

The luscious strawberries, without gardener's care, 

Lay blushing 'neath the leaves — and there reclined, 

Asleep, her lips all strawberry-stained, her hair 

Tossed on the fingers of the summer wind, 

Her cheek ablush, the Dunker's daughter Rosalind. 



48 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XII. 

And yet no passion in my boyish soul : 

I looked upon her as a thing above 

All human aspiration — and I stole 

Softly away, nor had one thought of love : 

Yet could e'en now my hands the chisel move 

And win from marble a divinity — 

The maid reclining in the oaken grove, 

The type of beauty and of purity, 

The Dunker's sleeping daughter should my model be. 

XIII. 

Her home a hewn log cabin, like the rest, — 
And, like the rest, for Dunkers' wives were neat, 
Was always clean — and she at home was drest 
In tidy calico, — her little feet 
Uncased in slippers, shone like roses sweet 
Where roses were, — for she the trellis trained 
With the wild rose ; she fed her pet peweet, 
Her fawn, her pigeons. Morn and eve she strained 
White milk with whiter hands. Nor needed rites dis- 
dained. 

XIV. 

No brother and no sister knew the maid ; 

Yet once a brother, younger by a year, 

Was there to her, with whom a child she played, 

As bright-eyed and quick-footed as a deer, 

But with a will that could not brook a peer, 

Shrewd, self-reliant, as he older grew, 

When he his sire no longer could revere, 

The ties of home he rashly rent in two. 

And scarce fourteen, he fled, but whither no one knew. 




Happy Childhood Days. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 49 

XV. 

The maiden had a lover, was there e'er, 

Since Eve was in the garden, maid had not ? 

Her playmate and her elder by a year, 

A Creole Catholic, Pierre de Cotte — 

The heir of a three hundred acre lot, 

But loath to farm — enamored of the life 

Upon the river : — natheless it brought 

Peril and risk — he loved the toil and strife, 

Better than aught save her who was to be his wife ! 

XVI. 

And it was she who through the parting boughs 
Peeped on the moonlit stream, to see if he 
Were in the passing boat — and if the vows, 
Repeated oft, were in his memory. 
The kerchief waved — he knew that all was well. 
He answered — he was true ! O, ecstasy ! 
Yet ere he saw her sign — he knew 'twas she : 
Whose was the form, Pierre's quick eye could tell — 
For love was pythoness, and his own heart the oracle. 

xvir. 

The Dunker liked him not — granted to him 
A fair outfit of manly qualities, 
Said he was sensible, and strong of limb, 
And stout of heart, and rich enough ; but these 
Were insufficient of themselves to please ; 
The young man's faith was not of the right sort — 
Perhaps — objections one may find with ease 
If one be swayed by prejudice — in short 
That was the lens through which all else was seen 
distort. 



50 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XVIII. 

Hudgens was richer, stouter, of their sect — 
And Hudgens had the Dunker's promise ; 
Girls were but girls, and they should not expect 
To have their own way always — they must recollect. 
" Besides," he did not say what was besides, and we 
Must for the present be content to guess it, till 
The muse shall in her own way let it be 
Unfolded to our vision. But we will 
Our sympathies give to the maiden still. 

XIX. 

Alas ! alas ! for the " besides." The secret bond 
That bound the aged Dunker to the swine 
Whate'er it was, was strong — drawing him beyond 
The power of conscience, and beyond the line 
Guarded by statute — human and divine. 
His daughter first, a whole burnt sacrifice 
He would have bound and gagged, and at the shrine 
Of the grim idol laid ! — by some device, 
The victim, was he, of the infernal deities. 

xx. 
What chance was it that the old man beheld 
A waving handkerchief — and that he saw 
His watching daughter ? and when she, impelled 
By her own heart's unconquerable law, 
Ran to her ready lover, saw him draw 
His boat from the mid current to the shore, 
And knew parental power could not awe 
Nor could restrain his truant daughter more ! 
Alas ! alas ! O life, how bitter is thy lore ! 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 5 I 

XXI. 

And he was planning murder: with his gun 

He would steal on the couple — would make sure 

To kill the trespasser, which being done, 

Time with his daughter's heart would work a cure. 

As for himself, at worst they would immure 

Him for awhile, and then ? — why, he should die : 

And why not die ? For death he was mature : 

His hair was gray : no lustre lit his eye : 

And yet ! why should he do this deed ? — ah, why ? 

xxir. 
O, blessed be the angels that withhold 
Our hands from the fulfillment of the deeds 
Which our thoughts compass ! and O, what untold 
Crimes, unto which Passion insanely leads, 
Their hands restrain, until or conscience pleads, 
Or the mad impulse dies, or love or fear 
Asserts a higher law, or to our needs 
Ever attent, the angel draws more near 
And on his wings uplifts us to a higher sphere ! 

XXIII. 

Some angel thus attend that poor old man ! 
Delay his purpose bad : prevent, restrain 
The execution of his fiendish plan 
For he is not all bad, there yet remain 
The pillars of the temple, though the stain 
Of many a storm is on them, yet they are 
The traces, through the ruins of a fane, 
The splendor of whose towers shone afar 
Luminous as snow, radiant as the morning star ! 



52 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XXIV. 

'Tis pitiable — how pitiable, alas ! 

The sight of such a fallen human ruin is ! 

We think upon it as we know it was : 

Alack ! alack ! and has it come to this ? 

Wisdom, discretion and foresightedness, 

Discrimination, prudent utterance 

Gone — all, all gone ! swept into the abyss. 

And he whose purpose ne'er was left to chance 

Is a tossed leaf — the toy of circumstance ! 

xxv. 
For men are not all bad at once, and they 
Whose souls are rank and foul with budding crime, 
May fear to do the worst. Upon his way 
Toward the house, the troubled sire had time 
To cool his passion, and from the sublime 
Of murderous ecstasy to the sedate 
Had passed, and so he saved his hands from crime. 
His final thought was wiser : he would state 
The thing in full, and then would ask advice of Kate. 

XXVI. 

The matron sat upon the trellised porch 

Reclining in a splint-seat rocking chair, 

She mused of heaven ; she thought each starlit torch 

A glimmer of the glory which was there ; 

The fire-flies dancing on the summer air — 

Were they not spirits sent to minister 

To such as should upon their foreheads bear 

The mystic seal ? — to minister to her ? 

And sooth less saintly ones are in the calendar. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 53 

XXVII. 

Unblemished as the smoothly ironed cap 
Which was her coronal of purity — 
Unblemished as the apron on her lap, 
Complete in goodness and simplicity, 
Her heart and life were — perfect probity. 
A blotch upon her steel-rimmed spectacles 
Had shocked her less than least iniquity : 
So free from fault herself that no one else 
Could she suspect. On earth such goodness sometimes 
dwells. 

XXVIII. 

Yet not obtrusive was her piety, 

It was with daily duties overgrown, 

Like some quaint country church, that one may see 

Hid in the dingle — that were all unknown 

To any passing stranger — did the tone 

Sweet-voiced, from out the belfry fail to call, 

Or spire peep from the trees. By One alone 

Is such religion aye observed, and he 

The good deed done unseen, rewardeth openly. 

XXIX. 

The beauty of a raven-haired brunette, 

With eyes of liquid jet, and lips that might 

The saintliest equanimity upset — 

The beauty of a blonde with eyes as bright 

As summer's cloudless sky, and step as light 

As a young wind's, and shoulders white as snow — 

I have seen such, and am no anchorite ; 

But a good face, with kindness all aglow, 

Smiling down time and care — no lovelier thing I know. 



54 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XXX. 

O Goodness ! I revere thee ! Thou art rare 

As attar of roses or the Tyrian dye : 

The warriors', poets', statesmen's greatness are 

A common daub — a thing to be passed by 

In the world's show, with but a careless eye ; 

But men should pause at goodness, and should dwell 

As on a vision of divinity. 

Here is high art : this harder to excel 

Than carve like Phidias, or paint like Raffaelle. 

xxxr. 
Great were the Roman nurslings of the wolf ; 
Great, Julius, when all Rome confessed his sway ; 
Curtius was great, to leap into the gulf ; 
Great, Alfred, Charlemagne, and Hugh Capet : 
Great, to kill Robespierre, Charlotte Corday : — 
The world has teemed with such, whose mighty deeds 
Present a most magnificent array : — 
But he but ill the page of history reads, 
Who sees him great alone for whom the million bleeds 

XXXII. 

How easy were it to be great, if one 
Might, soul-concentrate, by one act upheave 
Volcanic fame ! The fame of Washington, 
Slow-built, enduring, harder to achieve ! 
Yet scarce less hard is it to interweave 
Goodness into the web of common life, — 
Where'er one treads kind words and smiles to leave - 
To soothe another's sorrow when the knife 
Probes one's own heart! — to be perfect mother and 
wife ! 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 55 

XXXIII. 

The perfect mother, that the long night watches 

Beside the sick couch of the petulant boy, 

That seeks no rest herself — whose glad eye catches 

Health's earliest beam with overflowing joy 

That pays her care. The perfect wife, as coy 

As simple girl, as heedful of the mood 

Of him too inconsiderate to employ 

For her the arts that won her maidenhood ! 

Never in cloister nuns so saintly and so good ! 

xxxiv. 
The matron sat upon the trellised porch 
When came the angry sire, and with hot speech, 
Whose burning utterance seemed his tongue to scorch, 
Gave her his tale — how down upon the beach, 
Were the paired doves — each in embrace of each ! 
He thought his daughter should have had more sense ! 
It was moreover an ill-mannered breach 
Of positive commandment — an offence — 
A most unpardonable disobedience. 

xxxv. 
As for the Frenchman, his first impulse was 
To take his life, and even now it would 
Be an ill thing to meet him ! For the laws — 
He did not mean to break them — they were good 
But then he wished to have it understood 
That his own house was his — his word was law 
To be obeyed ! — as be obeyed it should ! 
And thence the young intruder should withdraw, 
Or there was trouble brewed for both ! That thing he 
saw ! 



56 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XXXVI. 

The dame removed her glasses — her mild eyes 

Calm as the moon above, and a sweet smile 

Enwreathed her lips — such smile would tranquillize 

The ocean at its maddest : " Think awhile : 

What is the thing for which thee would defile 

Thy hands with blood : and what would thee have done, 

Had any in thy youth dared be so vile 

As to keep thee from thy beloved one ? 

And think whose eye our every act is always on. 

XXXVII. 

" The lad is not to blame that he should think 
As his own mother taught him at her knee : 
Were he immoral — did he deeply drink — 
Were he a thief — did he speak ill of thee — 
Were he a maker of false currency " — 
Thus far the logic pleased him, but at these 
Last words his face was very pale, and he, 
Although he dared not speak, was ill at ease 
At this allusion to his own malpractices. 

XXXVIII. 

Of these the good Kate had known nought at all : 

They had been clone in secret : and her wit 

Was altogether unintentional : 

Yet serious mischief might have come of it ; 

For, with lip set, hands clenched and forehead knit, 

Smothering curses that were on his tongue, 

Whence blood and froth were oozing as he bit, 

Stood the graybeard ! when from the trees among 

A sharp flash shone, and thence a cracking rifle rung ! 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. $7 



XXXIX. 

It was the signal for the coiner's band 

To gather at the usual rendezvous : 

The Dunker wearied of the business, and 

Would have been overjoyed could he undo 

The cord which bound him hand and foot thereto ! 

But difficult is the escape from sin : 

The grain betwixt the millstones must grind through 

Maugre its groans ! The rapids once within 

The cataract's plunge is sure ! 'Tis fatal to begin ! 

XL. 

And so he could not disregard the sign, 

And so abruptly left his simple spouse : 

She questioned not — nor cared she to divine 

Whereof his frequent absence from the house. 

Wherefore they grew thus, should she ask the boughs ? 

Wherefore it blew thus, should she ask the breeze ? 

Nature to all full liberty allows : 

These grow unquestioned — blow unquestioned these : 

All she leaves free — birds, blossoms, rocks and trees ! 

XLI. 

Each thus ungoverned, save of the decree 

Of its own nature, freely can express 

Itself — its individuality, 

In contour, motion, posture, color, dress — 

And each become the type of perfectness 

Within the limits of its proper sphere ; 

And thus is variation limitless 

In nature's realm : no autocrat austere 

Formal submission forces : All is freedom here. 



58 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XLII. 

Were men untrammeled of their fellows thus 

An honest difference were not thought a schism ; 

Uncharity would seek an exodus, 

And Jealousy out in to the abysm : 

Then would no arbitrary criticism 

Be the destroyer — the iconoclast 

Of aught whereon True Song had placed his chrism : 

Then Tyranny were a monster of the past, 

And Liberty no more were limited by Caste ! 

XLIII. 

Nor is there Love where'er Mistrust abides. 

Love is so simply trustful, that suspicion 

Of him in whom the loving heart confides 

Is henceforth banished, by an inhibition 

Rigid as that which driveth to perdition, 

O'er crystal wall and battlement of azure, 

The recreant spirits of the abodes Elysian ! 

Love holdeth all too dear her precious treasure, 

To suffer Mistrust to enter, by gateway or embrasure ! 

XLIV. 

A part of this is what the good dame thought, 
A part is necessary consequence 
Of what she thought — and so she never sought 
To know wherefore her husband's reticence, 
Nor indeed would the strongest evidence 
Scarce shake her faith in him to whom she gave 
Her heart in girlhood. Sweet the recompense 
Which guiltless hearts thus naturally have ! 
Their faith in God, man, self — so much at least they 
save ! 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 59 



XLV. 

An old log hut a mile away from thence 
Was on the margin of a great morass ; 
On three sides aspen groves and thickets dense 
Of hickory and oak, and sassafras 
Fringed with low growth : nettle-weed, prairie-grass, 
Blackberry bushes, all together grew, 
Forming a barrier difficult to pass ; 
But yet that way infrequent led thereto, 
An Indian scout would scarce have found a passage 
through. 

XLVI. 

Here the late chopper or the hunter lone 
Would sometimes see, or in his fancy see, 
A light within, that through some crevice shone 
Between the logs, and clicking sounds would be 
Heard from within. What midnight witchery 
Is hidden here ? What wicked deeds and foul ? 
He listens. Tis the creaking of a tree ; 
He calls, and answers but the hooting owl ; 
He looks. The grim monk Night o'er all has drawn 
his cowl. 

XLVII. 

A fallen chimney and a broken floor, 
A shattered leach, some larkspurs here and there, 
A piece of scythe-blade hung behind the door, 
A rusted hoe, some scraps of pottery ware, 
The day reveals : Else all is waste and bare. 
From the tall nettles that conceal the ground, — 
Sole denizen of the place — a startled hare 
Leaps forth, rests on his haunches, looks around, 
Trembles, and is evanished at a single bound. 



60 THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

XLVIII. 

The secret passage 'neath the broken plank 

That lay as if cast there by accident, 

The buried boxes, mid the trias rank, 

Or stored with coin or crafty implement, 

The stranger saw not — scarce the bloodhound's scent 

Could trace the.se honest artists — who the fang 

Of laggard law with ease could circumvent. 

Here yet the livelong night their hammers rang, 

And here the maudlin Dunker sought the lawless gang. 

XLIX. 

The faithful shepherdess, the summer moon, 

Had led her flocks adown the hills of blue, 

The morn of night was hastening to its noon, 

Star after star into the groves withdrew, 

Yet by the river sat the impassioned two 

Nor saw river or moon, nor could regard 

The blooms and balsamy plants that near them grew, — 

Spice-wood, sassafras, pennyroyal, nard, — 

Nor mountain mint, nor sod with dewy clover starred. 

L. 

The stars move over, and the ripples move 

To melody before them, but they see 

No heaven and hear no music, unless love 

Be in itself both heaven and harmony ! 

O ripples, singing as ye seek the sea, 

Sing softly as ye pass ! Breathe balm, ye flowers ! 

Move slow, ye stars, that long the time may be ! 

Rest on your silver oars, ye gliding hours ! 

And lengthen the delights of these ambrosial bowers ! 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 6 1 

LI. 

Nor do they see the boat's crew on the prow, 
With dextrous touch wield the light fisher's wand, 
Or from her side the unerring trident throw, 
Or light their hickory torches on the strand, 
Or angling wade along the shelving sand, 
O'er which the stream of liquid amber glides 
While white foam blooms, and struggle on the land 
The river kings, the monarchs of the tides, 
Irradiant rainbows flashing from their jeweled sides. 

LII. 

Thus through the early eve : — at length they rest 

On their bateaux, and wreathes of odorous smoke, 

Their supper o'er, from manly lips outprest, 

Curl over them in clouds : the fumes croak 

The tale long-drawn or the good-natured joke ; 

Perhaps of him who lingers over-long 

Upon the shore, or of his Dunker folk : — 

The pipes laid down, follows the boatman's song 

Waked by whose notes each forest echo finds a tongue. 

SONG. 

Merry the life of the boatman is, 
None of the land's man's cares are his, 
He of the river is king — is king ! 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 
Tralala! Tralala ! Ha! I-yah ! 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 

Bracing his shoulder to the pole, 
Bracing against the cleat his sole, 



62 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

Moves he as light as a duck on wing ! 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 
Tralala! Tralala ! Ha! I-yah ! 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 

Boatman, O Boatman, no longer roam, 
Seek thee a wife and a quiet home, 
Both of the river and land be king, 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 
Tralala! Tralala! Ha! I-yah! 

Merrily boatmen sing ! 

LIII. 

So sang the youngest, a lithe lad whose chin 

Was scarcely shaded with a delicate moss, 

Soft as the spring time leaf-down on the linn. 

Can years upon such features e'er emboss 

The lines of care, or Avarice engross 

Thereon his ledger ? Yet the loss of youth, 

If it be wisely spent, is not a loss. 

Who from the wreck of years preserves his truth, 

His manliness, — his soul, may scorn of Time the tooth. 

LIV. 

The voice a rich contralto, and the tune 

Rose like the warbling of a bird in spring, 

With trills that 'chance a higher art might prune, 

It hung aloft trembling and quivering, 

'Till one feared for it as a living thing : 

But down it sweetly glided, as a bird 

Glides down the air with an unwearied wing, 

To its rich close, and to its final word 

The rough uncultured men attentive,watched and heard. 



THE BUNKERS DAUGHTER, 63 



LV. 

Nor they alone : the love-rapt Rosalind 

Was wakened from her ecstasy thereby ; 

No longer in the present dwelt her mind : 

No longer was her hope-dilated eye 

Gloating upon a bright futurity : 

She thought but of the past — of childhood's days, 

All mellowed with the haze of memory ; 

Of flowers of spring — of summer's tasseled maize — 

Of autumns, when with gold the woods were all ablaze i 

LVI. 

But not alone — her brother then with her 

Was ever, whether she sought the robin's nest, 

Or in some hollow maple spied the fur 

Of the affrighted rabbit — or oppressed 

With heat lay on the scented hay at rest ! 

She weeps to think where 'chance that brother is 

Of brothers all, the bravest, manliest, best : — 

His heart so light, his voice so like to this 

Which she now hears ! " So like ! why this is his ! - 

'tis his ! 

Lvir. 

" My brother ! O my Henry ! " Like the fawn 

That hears the cry of its long absent mate, 

Light as the wind that enters with the dawn 

The rosy portals of the orient gate, 

Swift as an arrow and precipitate 

Adown the pebbly bluff the maiden flew, 

Or like some meteor irradiate 

Which rushes midnight's lonely arches through 

Speeding to join the rising morning's retinue. 



64 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

LVIII. 

And he ! The fountains of affection long 
Sealed with the pressure of an iron will 
Burst forth at last ! Oh, is there aught more strong 
Than these our human instincts ? We may kill 
The sentiments that culture can instil : 
Man makes them, and when made obliterates, 
But nature's loves repressed, still gush and fill 
All the heart's crevices ; the bound pool waits 
The hammer's shock, and then bursts through the 
shattered slates. 

LIX. 

He jocund with his comrades, or at least 

With wilful occupation could suppress 

Home longings, and his lips refuse to feast 

With kisses, and his eyes and heart to bless 

With sight of home and motherly caress : 

Albeit in the night time oft he stole 

Glimpses of home, but deemed it manliness 

To smother the deep yearnings of his soul 

And what to him seemed woman's weakness to control. 

LX. 

He could not brook — not he — to see his sire : — 
No ! ne'er should he again bend to the hand 
Of any master ! — nor shrink from his ire ! 
And yet to him far more than a command 
Was mother or sister's slightest fancy, and 
Them he oft wished to meet, but could not be 
So nobly and angelically grand 
In spirit, as in true humility 
Frankly to own his fault — his filial recreancy. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 65 

LXI. 

But now he saw his sister, and he knew 
Instinctively 'twas she, and could discern 
Indeed her perfect outline as she flew 
Adown the bluff. Then melted all his stern 
And moody will to power of Love eterne. 
From the bateau he passed with one wild bound 
Sheer to the shore — o'er sand and dewy fern : 
They meet half way — his arms enclasped her round, 
And in one long, passionate embrace he held her wound. 

LXII. 

Pierre, though frighted at the maid's descent, 
As like a bird she darted from his side, 
Beheld at first in mute bewilderment, 
And with a mingled jealousy and pride, 
The conduct strange of his affianced bride ; 
A jealousy that nearer to her heart 
Should any man, a brother e'en, abide, — 
Pride in the grace and beauty which no art 
Had trained, and which none ever could impart. 

LXIIJ. 

Was this the brother of his wild gazelle, 
And he, his long-time comrade, blind thereto ? 
It was a thing almost incredible ; 
Yet, (the vile thought unwilling to pursue 
Which should Love's tapestry of dreams undo,) 
A moment only in misdoubt he stood, 
Then Love affirmed supreme its power anew, 
And gave new confidence in womanhood. 
Woman ! should she prove false, earth must despair of 
good. 



66 THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

LXIV. 

A moment only doubted shrewd Pierre, 

So soon should jealousy be ever spent, 

Then, with a quickened step and manly air, 

After his fugitive affianced went, 

And soon his greetings with her sobbings blent ; 

Albeit there stole upon his cheek a tear, 

The silent sign that he could not prevent 

Of a true heart within his breast, howe'er 

With his rough life his cheek and brow embronzed were. 

LXV. 

The maiden's first outbreak of passion o'er, 

She said, " This is my brother Henry, sir ; and this — " 

And then she turned to Henry, but before 

Her words were uttered, he — " No matter, sis, 

I've double reason to know who this is — 

My brother soon, I hope — nay, do not pout — 

A stout hand and an honest heart are his — 

I knew he met a maiden hereabout 

Who by some marvellous accident he had found out. 

LXVI. 

" Perhaps, dear Rosy, you can partly guess 

The accident to which his coming here was due," 

" It was your doing, then, sir, you confess ; 

So finding him a sterling friend to you, 

You thought that he might please your sister, too : 

Thank you, dear brother, for your prudent thought, 

One further kindness, brother ever true," 

Her hands clasped his, " Be by your sister taught, 

And leave no more your home unvisited, — unsought. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 67 

LXVII. 

" In that lone home, without you, O how lonely ! — 

How desolate and lonely ! mother weeps ! 

Your vacant seat reminds her of her only — 

Her son that still within her bosom keeps 

The dearest place, or if she wakes or sleeps ! 

All day her lips are burdened with one theme, 

And that is thee, and with her tears she steeps 

Her nightly pillow, and the morning beam 

Renews her woe, for thou hast vanished with her dream. 

LXVIII. 

" Come with me home, my brother, without thee, 
My roses bloom, my robin sings in vain ; 
A gloomy shadow casts our favorite tree ; 
The winds of spring sob through the woods in pain ; 
The summer sunshine falls in sullen rain ; 
All bright things wither, waiting till thou come 
And gladden with thy cheerful smile again ; 
All pleasant sounds, when separated from 
Thy voice, shrink from themselves, and grow in sad 
ness dumb." 

LXIX. 

No eloquence is like a woman's voice, 

No talisman is like a woman's eye, 

Once brought within its influence — no choice, 

No will is left unto us, or to fly 

Or feel the power of its sorcery : 

The ball the fountain sports with, or the leaves 

In the wind's eddy, would more hopefully 

Essay escape. So thought Pierre. From Eve's 

Too sweet enthrallment, Adam freedom ne'er achieved, 




68 THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

LXX. 

" O sister ! O my sister ! who wast ne'er 

Once from my thoughts in all my wanderings, 

To thee our mother cannot be more dear 

Than I have held her, and the midnight brings 

Her to my visions oft, and rustling wings 

Of angels seem to fan me as I wake, 

And round my steps a holy presence clings, 

As if the prayers of that dear one could make 

Those unseen guardians follow whate'er course I take. 

LXXI. 

" Nor am I so obdurate and incased 

In my self-will as to remain unmoved 

At thy entreaties. Were I so debased, 

By self condemned, by Heaven disapproved, 

I were indeed unworthy to be loved 

Of such a sister. Though the thing is hard, 

Yet ne'er I shrank from aught which it behoved 

To undertake ; and though the way were barred 

With flint and fire I'd go homeward and duty-ward ! " 

LXXII. 

So Henry spake, and thereupon they wind 

Successive to the summit of the bank, 

She foremost, Henry next, Pierre behind : 

The bushes sprinkled them with dews : the dank 

Grass kissed their passing feet : the mint-blooms sank 

Beneath them, and thereafter bloomed more sweet : 

The moisture of their breath the roses drank ; 

For Love, and Penitence, with blessed feet, 

And Hope, rose heavenward — trinity complete ! 



THE DUNKER' S DAUGHTER. 69 



Lxxni. 
Delay we not the greeting which the son 
Soon gave his mother, and which she returned 
Most motherly — we may not pause thereon, 
Nor on the tale which from his lips she learned, 
Nor how she, gloating on his face, discerned 
With pride the bud of manhood, — to their rest 
Leave we them all — the stars above them burned 
In pureness like their own — the crown and crest 
Of that blest night, to be ere morning yet more blest. 

LXXIV. 

How fare the Dunker and his bad compeers ? 
The fire glows bright — the cup of cheer goes round — 
No boding conscience there to waken fears 
Of doom's dread beagles that from the profound, 
Unseen, are eager on their prey to bound : 
No dread of human law ; but steeped in crime, 
All goodness in intoxication drowned, 
With ribald jest and cards they chased the time 
'Till from mid-arch throned Night beheld the morning's 
prime ! 

LXXV. 

No boding conscience ? Could the Dunker bear 

The pressure upon his ? The rest may drink 

Forgetfulness, and with a braggart air 

Mingle defiance with the bottle's clink, 

But he, for five years now upon the brink 

Of utter ruin, and that very night 

Just saved from murder — he could not but think ! 

Conscience forced home the question — " Is it right 

To ruin thus your soul, and thus your household blight V 



70 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

LXXVI. 

The coiners, five in all. A dark-haired man, 
Their leader, with fine beard, and face all seamed, 
With sharp-cut features, and the hue of tan, 
With lips close set, with a forced smile that gleamed 
Forever on his cheek, whate'er there streamed 
From his keen black eyes, or avarice, anger, hate, 
Revenge, or lust, for there all passions teemed — 
A forced, sardonic, snaky smile, whose mate 
Might galvanism on a murderer's corpse create. 

Lxxvir. 
The other three were simple countrymen, 
Rough, coarse, but not generically bad, 
But easily ensnared : the coiner's den 
For them a certain piquant flavor had, 
They liked it most because the law forbade, 
And somewhat for its riotous excess : 
'Twas very human, though 'twas very sad : 
Though most humiliating to confess, 
Yet liberty is oft a name for lawlessness. 

LXXVIII. 

The leader watched the Dunker, and he saw 

That somewhat was amiss — but, far too shrewd 

To question him directly, thought to draw 

Him on by drinking, rather than by rude 

Inquiry, furnish for suspicion food. 

And so he feigned to drink, but the old man 

Was wary, and directly understood 

And foiled, by abstinence, the captain's plan, 

Who, feigning not to see, their business thus began : 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. ?I 

LXXIX. 

" A boat is lying at the river side — 

She's going up the river after wheat ; 

She'll bring a raft of flatboats down beside : 

Last night I saw the captain, and a neat 

Arrangement made, but did not quite complete : 

I satisfied him that his bank-notes were 

Less like than solid silver coin to meet 

The farmer's views, while — 'twas a ruse de guerre — 

I said I was an eastern manufacturer. 

LXXX. 

" More manufacturer than eastern though — 
However, let that pass, — I told him I 
Wished to go east, and that I'd rather go 
Without a load of coin, — the jeopardy 
Of travel was too great, but if he'd buy 
My specie from me he should have it cheap : 
He caught the bait unhesitatingly, 
I sold my coin, and see here what a heap ! 
I call that going the figure pretty steep ! " 

LXXX I. 

" Hurra for you ! hurra ! Come, let's divide ! " 
Shouted the tipsiest. " You're great ! You're prime ! " 
The leader : " But some business beside 
Demands attention first — in proper time 
You'll get your equal portion to a dime." 
The Dunker held his peace, but of a grim 
Necessity forced a smile : the wage of crime 
Should stain his palm no more — nor conscience dim — 
Wife — daughter — son, no more should be ashamed 
of him. 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 



LXXXII. 

" He had more bills, but I had no more coin : 
And so I made arrangements to dispatch 
A messenger with more, by land, to join 
Him just above the bend — where one can catch 
A boat with ease — a team is more than match 
For a bateau up stream. Now we to-night 
Must plan — we stand with finger on the latch 
That lifted opes to us a gateway bright. 
Wealth is before us if we manage matters right." 

LXXXIII. 

With quickened ears the three caught every word, 
Their cup-dazed eyes enkindling with greed : 
Even the Dunker found his avarice stirred — 
May Heaven help us in our hour of need ! 
Perchance too great temptation to misdeed 
Were his, knew he that money was Pierre's, 
The captaincy, and that the toil-stamped meed 
Of many a day. How angel-wafted prayers 
Oft guard the weak who might else yield them un- 
awares. 

LXXXIV. 

And a sweet vision came before his eye, 

A fair young girl of frank and open heart, 

Trusting, and spotless in her chastity, 

Simple, unconscious, all devoid of art ; — 

The dearest gift that woman can impart, 

Giving to him — herself : — through long, long years 

Bearing his faults — still smothering the smart 

They gave to her : whispering not her fears : — 

And, lest they should annoy, suppressing even tears. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. *Jl 

LXXXV. 

A smile forever wearing — not a forced — 

Conventional — but sweet and natural smile, 

The truthful utterance of the loves that coursed 

Along the pulses, from a heart that guile 

Knew not, nor anything that could defile. 

There are foul things that revel as they list 

In darkness, loathsome, hideous creatures, — while 

The bright day's influence they cannot resist, 

But shun the spot that by its healthful beams is kissed. 

LXXXVI. 

Be there foul things so germane to the soul 

That, when the sunlight of a loving life 

Shines on it, will not hide as does the ghoul 

When morn approaches ? Courage, courage, wife ! 

Angels are helping thee ! O, not to strife 

And noisy battle are the victories ! 

With noble conquests let the world be rife ! 

Meekness, forbearance, gentleness, love, these 

Win more than swords, press, pulpits, and diplomacies. 

lxxxvi r. 
Wife, thou hast won thy husband ! Oft, how oft, 
Has risen the image of thy purity 
Before his eye ! And when his comrades scoffed 
At goodness as a thing that could not be 
Found upon earth, save in the phantasy 
Of some enthusiastic Methodist, 
He knew the thing was false — for he knew thee ! 
And, so to-night ! Their mouthings he must list 
But thinks of thee — nor shall he long in crime persist. 



74 THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 



LXXXVIII. 

What chance was it that gentle Rosalind 

Somnambulant went forth into the night ? 

Upon the embowered porch she stole — the wind 

Tangling her tresses, and amid the white 

Folds of her robe ling'ring in wild delight. 

By some strange impulse led, she passed alone 

Beyond the garden, like a sylvan sprite, 

Of wrong unconscious and afraid of none : 

Ankles and shoulders snowy in the moonlight shone, 

LXXXIX. 

Let evil be to him that evil thinks : 

A modest maiden finds her modesty 

Stronger than woven steel of triple links : 

Men bow to it as does the devotee 

Unto the shrine of his idolatry : 

The coarsest natures do it reverence ; 

'Tis alabaster in its purity — 

Sacred as wine still sealed ! Sweet innocence ! 

It is unto itself its own and best defence. 

xc\ 
So Rosalind wandered forth, but not unseen, 
Pierre and Henry heard the stealthy tread 
Upon the porch, and watched her from between 
The lattice-work of vines, nor without dread 
Of some strange terror as her pathway led 
Forth to the forest ; with one impulse then 
They followed her, and fast, for now she. sped 
Quick-footed as a doe affrighted, when, 
Chased by the yelling pack, she seeks her native glen ! 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 



75 



XCI. 

And soon she came to where in conclave dark 

The assembled coiners were, and with a shriek 

She wakened ! In hushed speech, their leader, " Hark ! " 

But no response those guilty spirits speak, 

Helpless they stand, (for guilt is ever weak,) 

And mute with terror. Then their leader thus — 

" Quick to your arms, or vainly will ye seek 

Escape from whate'er danger threatens us ! 

Your pistols ! Arm yourselves ! Delay is perilous ! " 

xcn. 
In low firm tone, nor unaccompanied 
With fit gesticulation, for he held 
His hand upon his pistol : they must heed 
And prompt obey the word or be compelled ! 
But one : — " From this our destinies unweld ; 
I am no murderer, and I will not be : 
I have too long my better nature quelled : 
I share your danger, but am henceforth free : 
Shoot if you dare ! there is no cowardice in me ! " 

XCIII. 

It was the Dunker. From his grating teeth, 

" Traitor ! " their leader hissed — his eyes, on fire 

With rage and hate, flashed fiercely underneath 

His knotted brows. The Dunker : " Calm your ire : 

I am no traitor : I have no desire 

To bring you into trouble, but I will 

No longer foul my spirit, and bemire 

My daughter's name with a report so ill. 

Of these misdeeds I'm sick — of you I've had my fill ! " 



76 THE DUNKER' S DAUGHTER. 

XCIV. 

His daughter ! At the moment her bright eye 
Glanced through a crevice, and beholding there 
Her father, she gave utterance to a cry : 
Forth leaped her brother and athlete Pierre : 
In the convulsive energy of despair 
Forth leaped the coiners, not to fight, but fly : 
Their leader save : he, ere he was aware, 
Was held disarmed and captive, pinioned by 
The Dunker's hands, as in the gripe of Destiny. 

xcv. 
"Too quick for you, my friend," the Dunker said, 
" I read the mischief in that eye of yours, 
And saw your weapon aiming at my head, 
Preventions are a better thing than cures ! 
Your hand is steady though, and it insures, 
I warrant, all you fire at." It was true : 
No serpent that with charms the bird allures 
Is surer of his prey, than, when he drew 
His weapon, was the chieftain of the coiner's crew. 

*% xcvi. 

And thus he had not fired — nor did his piece 
Go off as 'twould have done in clumsier hands : 
His delicate touch the charge would not release 
Until his aim was certain — but he planned 
Against too quick an adversary, and 
The Dunker thus saved more lives than his own : 
Cool was the old man, and serene and bland, 
And Chesterfieldian in his mien and tone — 
Impassive as an Indian warrior, or a stone. 



THE BUNKER'S DAUGHTER. J J 

XCVII. 

No more the leader strove, but stood chagrined, 

Meantime had Henry entered, with Pierre ; 

Back to her home stole gentle Rosalind : 

Father and son such meeting chance had ne'er : 

The Dunker gave no explanation there, 

Nor was it after sought, but fully they 

Were reconciled, they made the captain swear 

To leave the country at the break of day, 

Ne'er to return, or else the law should take its way. 

XCVIIT. 

The oath yet stung his lips, when trembling, he 
Saw entering, if he could trust his eyes, 
The latest victim of his villainy, 
Who, 'since the rogue his gentleman's disguise 
Had laid aside, did not at first surmise 
That he was cheated, and that this the cheat : 
But rascals are too cunning to be wise, 
And this one from mere habit of deceit 
Spoke in feigned tones when silence were far more 
discreet. 

xcix. 
"Vat," said Pierre, " Mon ami, sacrement ! 
Eh bien ! so dis is vat you manufacture too ? 
Den you sheat me, mon clier ami, c est non ! 
Pardonnez, monsieur, if I trouble you 
To pay me dat small money vich is due ! 
Two tousand dollar ! " " Come, no nonsense now," 
The Dunker added, " You would best get through 
The thing and quick, or you will be taught how 
We all of us to stern necessity must bow." 



78 THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 

C. 

The helpless culprit yielded and took out 

The very money which not long before 

The crew were so hilarious about, 

And handed to Pierre, who counting o'er 

Found it deficient by a dozen score. 

"That's all I have," the villain said, and lied : 

Then Henry, " Make him pay you : he has more ; 

He thought you would not count. I saw him hide 

A handful in his pocket on the other side." 

ci. 

The Dunker then : " You may as well, I guess, 

Be honest now : you've somewhat dulled your wit 

By this mishap : some further business 

You know there was : we were to wait a bit 

Before dividing ; so we're doing it : 

You've done? Well, then, we're through with you: 

now go 
For it is dawn already. Don't permit 
The sun to light your starting, or you know 
That other hands than ours a path of hemp may show." 

en. 
With that he loosed the varlet, who, too glad, 
Acted upon the word ; and now the day 
Was breaking as they home their pathway made, 
The meadow-lark sang gaily, from the spray 
The robin trilled his morning roundelay, 
The quail piped clear : the happy partridge whirred, 
The circling pigeons fluttered round their way 
And all the forest waked — blossom and bird, 
And glistening dew and leaf with joyous life were stirred. 



THE DUNKER'S DAUGHTER. 79 

CUT. 

The morning-glories from the trellis blew 

Through their purple horns with pouting lips, 

The sportive roses o'er their fellows threw 

Showers of blossoms, tinted like the tips 

Of Dawn's transparent fingers when she dips 

The clear light from the sea, and strews its spray — 

Even as then — till cloud and forest drips ! 

And so was ushered in the glorious day, 

As 'twere the pledge of peace and blessedness alway ! 

civ. 
And so the coiner's band was broken up : 
And so was truant Henry home again : 
And so was an estray restored to Hope, 
And family, and courses just and sane ; 
And so a tender and a loving twain 
Found all obstructions suddenly removed : 
The Dunker now no longer could refrain 
From giving to the lover the beloved : 
And so he did what for his interest it behoved. 

cv. 
And so there was a wedding : and thereat 
The Dunker was, as he of right should be : 
In cap and apron in her rocker sat 
The Dunker's wife — sweet type of piety, 
And Henry and another — who was she ? 
The reader best may guess : and there were, too, 
Maidens and youths to share the revelry, 
From all the country round ; nor were the crew 
Of Pierre's boat omitted from the retinue ! 



COLLEGE AND OTHER EARLY POEMS, 



THE BARD'S LAST SONG. 

/^\H ! it was mine, when hope was young, 
^ -> ^ And joy went leaping through my veins, 
E'er yet my harp was all unstrung, 

To call forth sweet and touching strains : 
And mine was once a master hand 

That blithely, skilfully could play ; 
The court, the camp could I command, 

By martial song or roundelay, 
The chieftain stormed, the lady wept, 
By turns as o'er the string I swept. 

I am not what I was. My brow 

Is withered by the touch of time ; 
My brain is dull : and seldom now 

Feel I the flush of thought sublime : — 
The sombre livery of truth 

All things assume ; and fancy's beam, 
That shone upon the scenes of youth, 

Is fitful now ; and boyhood's dream 
Has fled ; and left this wasting form 
To bide, uncheered, the pelting storm. 



THE BARD'S LAST SONG. 8 1 

And now, whene'er I strike the cords, 

Dim recollections of the past 
Dart through my anguished soul like swords : 

A spell-like madness o'er me cast, 
Distracts me, and I lightly touch 

My trembling fingers to the string, 
Then frantic turn away ! While such 

A horror, like some creeping thing, 
Comes o'er my shrinking soul, — that I, 
Madness and folly ! wish to die. 

When Hope — sweet Hope ! — thy sister died, 

Why, Memory, didst thou not die ? 
Ye should be buried, side by side : — 

Yet stay : — I will not ask thee why : 
'Tis sad, and yet 'tis sweet, when all 

The loved, the beautiful have fled 
That thou hast power their shades to call — 

To wake the spirits of the dead : — 
Awhile they cheer, — to leave and doom 
Me only to a deeper gloom ! 

Would that I could die ! — for there is naught 

That has not made my life a blot ; 
No lovely flower I ever sought 

When I had gained it withered not : 
O, it was mine when hope was young, 

And joy went leaping through my veins, 
Ere yet my harp was all unstrung, 

To call forth sweet and touching strains ; 
What once I was, I may not be, 
Adieu ! adieu ! my harp, to thee ! 



82 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

]\ /["OTHER ! — 'Tis a summer's evening, 
And the moaning breeze is keeping 
Concord with my saddened spirit ; — 

Silent Nature now is weeping, 
Shedding, in each greenwood bower, 
Dewy tears on shrub and flower. 

Mother ! — moonbeams light are falling, 

Casting holy light around me, 
As they used in days of childhood, 

Ere the demon care had found me, 
Ere I knew life's pleasures cloying, 
Tasteless, scarcely worth enjoying. 

Mother, — stars are bright above me, 

Glowing in the skies of even, 
Like the eyes of kindly angels, 

Watching from the heights of heaven, 
Like thine own, when love's bright beaming 
From their lustrous depths was streaming. 

Mother, — thoughts of those last moments 
When thou kindly watched'st o'er me, 

In the time of early boyhood 

When the world was bright before me, 

Gently o'er my soul are stealing 

Quelling each unhallowed feeling. 



TO MT MOTHER. 8$ 



Mother, — oft the recollection 

Of the lessons thou hast taught me 

Breaks of sin some spell-connection 
Which to ruin nigh have brought me, 

Like an angel's voice to call me 

Lest some evil should befall me. 

Mother, — would that I could view thee ! 

Would my longing eyes were gazing 
As they once were wont upon thee 

When thy lips thy boy wert praising, 
All else scarce were worth possessing 
Could I gain thy present blessing. 

Mother, — Time has robbed thy ringlets 

Of .their hues of glossy sable, 
Dimmed thine eye — thy forehead furrowed, 

But the mind — he will be able 
Ne'er to wrest its beauties from thee, 
Beauties which have aye become thee. 

Mother, — friendship's links may sever, 

Love may fail for every other, 
But the heart will cherish ever 

Its affection for a mother ! 
Death will only make it surer, 
Better — brighter — dearer — purer ! 



84 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



O SING THAT SONG AGAIN, SWEET BIRD. 

(~\ SING that song again, sweet bird, on that heart- 

^- > ^ thrilling strain, 

Let thy sweet voice again be heard — O sing that song 
again ! 

Sing me that song once more, sweet bird, for when I 
hear thee sing 

Deep thoughts within my heart are stirred, of life's de- 
parted spring ! 

The time of youth to me returns, when through the 

livelong day, 
Or in the field, or by the brook, I joyously would stray, 
When little Julia, by my side, would roam the meadows 

through 
While I would point, with boyish pride, where fairest 

flowers grew. 

But ah ! the frosts of winter came, and cut down all 

my flowers, 
And howling winds and drifting snows left bare the 

leafy bowers ; 
Upon my gentle Julia's form the hand of death was laid, 
And with her flowers, 'neath the snow, her burial-place 

they made. 

The spring returned, and blossoms fair again begemmed 

the earth 
Again the blithe birds filled the air with overflowing 

mirth, 



THE EVENING WIND. 85 

The skies again were beautiful, again the vernal breeze 
By turns skimmed lightly o'er the grass — and laughed 
among the trees. 

But Julia came to me no more, nor in the echoing glen 
Her joyous laugh nor merry shout shall greet my ear 

again. 
No more shall I behold her play the undergrowth among, 
Nor by the brooklets, " banks and braes," skip buoy- 
antly along ! 

wither, leaves ! ye flowers, decay ! ye skies, grow dark 

again ! 
Cease, balmy winds, to blow so sweet ! Ye rack my 

heart with pain ! 
Sing not that song again, sweet bird, I would not hear 

thee sing ! 

1 cannot bear the crowding thoughts of life's departed 

spring ! 



THE EVENING WIND. 
1845. 

f~\ COME, sit you down in the shade of the bower 
^^^ Where we have so often reclined, 
And list, as the bell tolls the sweet vesper hour, 
The song of the evening wind. 

He sings of the love-burthened song of the fair, 
As she leans on the breast of her own, 

And he bears up to God the bereaved widow's prayer, 
And the manacled African's moan. 



86 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

But to-morrow he'll tell you a different tale, 

He'll sing of deceit and despair, 
Betrayed by her loved one, the maniac's wail 

Rises up from the lips of the fair ! 

He'll sing of the joys of the Christian's last hour, 

Who ever in Christ put her trust, 
He'll sing how the soul is exalted in power 

As the body commingles with dust. 

He'll sing how the bronzed Ethiopian rose, 
Though enslaved and oppressed now he be, 

And threw off the shackles of liberty's foes, 
In the strength of the God of the free ! 



FOREST WORSHIP. 

*• The groves were God's first Temples." — Bryant. 

,# ~PIS Sabbath morn, — and here beneath the shade 

We quiet sit. How good is He who bade 
The grass to grow, the flowers to deck the sod, 
The birds to sing — how good, how good, is God ! 

No noises here disturb ! The waving trees 
Breathe out new praises on each passing breeze, 
And spreading forth their branches to the sky, 
Return their thanks to Him who reigns on high. 

The grateful blossoms lift their beaming eyes, 
In holy adoration to the skies, 
And shed their incense on the balmy air, 
While their sweet spirits rise in silent prayer. 



FOREST WORSHIP. 87 

Unruffled by the peaceful atmosphere, 
The silent lake reposes calm and clear, 
It brings to mind, 'tis so divinely bright, 
Life's flowing river in the realms of light ! 

The hour is holy — let us humbly bow, 

O, it is meet that we should worship now ! 

If nature worships, man, more blest, should raise 

To his Creator, higher notes of praise. 

THE PRAYER. 

" Our Father, God, who art in heaven, the same 
To-day, forever, hallowed be thy name ; 
Thy kingdom come ; thy holy will be done, 
As 'tis by seraphim around the throne. 

" Give us this day our daily bread, and oh, 
Forgive our sins as we forgive each foe ; 
Let not temptation lead us e'er astray, 
But keep our feet from every evil way ; 

" For thine the kingdom is and thine the power, 
And thine the glory, now and evermore. 

Amen." 
The listening angels hovering near, 
Bear our petitions to Jehovah's ear ! 

O 'tis an antepast of Heaven's bliss, 
To such a place, at such a time as this, 
To come, in the simplicity of youth, 
And worship God in spirit and in truth ! 



88 COLLEGE AND EARL Y POEMS. 



A STORY BY SOMEBODY. 

Read in Lyceum. 

A GREAT while ago — it is no matter when 
** I believe people never had measured time then — 
The Seasons by some sort of hap got together, 
And like other folks they conversed of the weather ; 
And matters in general they talked all about, 
Until talk-material had almost run out. 
Now Winter, since he was the only beau there, 
Felt bounden in duty to furnish the fair 
With occasional topics to while off the hours, 
To enable them, too, to develop their powers 
In innocent chat — (very proper) — and so, 
(Folks live now, too, who talk about what they least 

know,) 
He spoke of the crops, the flowers, the trees, 
The fruits, and many such matters as these. 
" I believe," said he, sagely, " it's commonly found 
That the mass of our plants do not grow the year round ; 
An unfortunate thing, and one can but lament it, 
Don't you think that some way might be found to pre- 
vent it ? " 
Says Summer, " I often have seen with regret, 
That shoots I have taken the most care to set, 
While I watched them myself would grow joyous and 

bright, 
But I never could trust them when out of my sight ! 
I have tried when I fairly have got them agoing 
(Thinking now they were thrifty and beautiful growing, 



A STORY BT SOMEBODY. 89 

I could rest me a little) to leave them to Autumn, 
Under her to develop the lessons I've taught 'em. 
But tho' she, the poor girl, has oft tried — (and she 

would, 
I am quite sure, do all that she properly could) — 
To keep them in blossom when I was away, 
With a few slight exceptions has not for a day 
Been able to do so. The most she could do 
Has been to bring out some small flower or two." 
"I'll tell you," said Winter, "let me have a try at 'em, 
Let a good severe snow-storm or so have a try at 'em ; 
I'll bet you before they saw more than one flurry 
They'd come to their wits, and that, too, in a hurry ! " 
"O brother," said Spring, "now how can you talk so? 
Dear Autumn's best efforts you sure only mock so ! 
You know that she — sometimes — is a good-natured 

elf, 
At others is almost as bad as yourself ! " 
" Don't be personal, pertness," said Autumn to Spring, 
" I can well understand the intent of your fling ! '' 
"Pardon, sister," said Spring, "I meant not to offend, 
And folks should be judged but by what they intend." 
All talked now together ; and some things they oughter 
Not said were not taken down by the Reporter. 
It was finally settled that Winter should try 
To bring life to those plants that were " ready to die," 
And that if he should fail — an impossible thing 
As he thought — they then should be given to Spring. 
Well, the very next day — (Winter could not wait longer, 
He's very impatient) — it snowed — and a stronger 
Or more steady gale has but seldom been known, 
Since the earliest period, breezes have blown. 



90 COLLEGE AND EARL T POEMS. 

The frost nipped the flowers, and the wind took the wood. 
But the old forest trees still unflinchingly stood, 
With their myriad spears the storm they defied, 
And determined they never would bud if they died ! 
So Winter resolved, by a dense guard of snow, 
To cut off if he could their supplies from below, 
With a thick wall of ice too, he cramped every bough, 
And his trumpeter Boreas tauntingly now 
Called out to surrender ; the trees did not yield 
And showed not a symptom of quitting the field ! 
For a tedious three months raged this terrible war 
Till Winter, discouraged and forced to give o'er, 
Withdrawing his forces he hurried them forth, 
And performed a most hasty retreat to the north. 

And then came the Spring — arrayed as the queen 
Of a bright train of beings, the fairest, I ween, 
That earth in its happiest moments has seen. 
'Twould have done your heart good to have seen their 

bright faces, 
There were Kindness and Hope, and the Loves and 

the Graces, 
And they cheerily sped over brooklets and meads 
With bright clouds for their cars and the zephyrs as 

steeds : 
And the birds in their joy warbled many a song 
To that beautiful band as they hurried along ! 
And the young buds peeped out with inquisitive eye 
To look on the company as they passed by ! 
And the old maple trees in their dignity stood, 
The pride of the forest — the Lords of the Wood, — 
Blossoms of exquisite mould they lavishly cast 
In the path of these beautiful ones as they passed : 



O BERLIN IN 184Q. 91 

And the delicate violets, modest and sweet, 

Spread a carpet of purple and green for their feet : 

Indeed every leaflet and every flower 

In the field and the forest, in meadow and bower, 

Vied with every other — in striving to show 

Who on the new-comers most honor should throw ! 

The conquest was clear — the Spring had done what 

The Winter with all of his forces could not. 

The plants obeyed kindness — while little they recked 

The harshness, that only their budding had checked. 

The tale has a moral — if you but get hold of it, 

I suppose that you scarcely would need to be told of it ; 

When severity's thwarted, and rashness would fail, 

Discretion and kindness will often prevail. 



OBERLIN IN 1849. 

T LOVE thee, Oberlin ! — thy classic halls ! — 

Thy woods and fields ! — thy peaceful, happy homes ! 

What though thou boastest not of massive walls ? — 
Of frowning cliffs ? — of castellated domes ? — 
Of antique abbey, through whose ruin roams 

The ghost of murdered monk ? — what though thou art 
Not beautiful nor picturesque! — there comes 

A feeling gushing from the inner heart, 

And memories fresh of joys thou dost impart. 

There is a beauty which the outer eye 
Can never gaze upon : it blooms within : 

Its lineaments deep in the spirit lie : — 
This beauty — it is thine, sweet Oberlin! 



92 COLLEGE AND EARL T POEMS. 

For thou art constant striving still to win 
This wand'ring world back to its god again ! 

Thou stemmest ever the deep tide of sin, 
That swells up like the heaving of the main, 
And floods the earth with drifts of woe and pain ! 

No child of Venus thou ! A holier love 

Begat thee, peaceful village, than e'er sprung 

Within the breast unsanctified. The dove 
Of innocence dwells thy retreats among : 
And o'er thy halls his sanctity has flung 

The Elohim of Israel : and spite 

And hate within thee seldom find a tongue : — 

Thou enemy of old Oppression's night ! — 

Minerva armed and battling for the right ! 

Thou refuge of the fugitive ! The slave, 

When struggling through the morass dark and dense ; 
When horrors thicken on him, and his brave 

And manly spirit falters ; when intense, 

And reaching to the inmost soul, the sense 
Of desolation pierces him : sweet Hope 

Lights up his eye, and drives its sadness thence : 
She points to thee : new joys upon him ope 
Like the revealings of the telescope ! 

And when the baying of the hound has died 
Far in the distance, and the horse's tramp 

No longer echoes on the river side — 
When in the deep recesses of the damp 
And dismal forest, with his little lamp 

He lights his morning fire — (for the night 



OBERLIN IN i8 4 g. 93 



Permits him not to sleep, but he must camp 
Before the tree-tops catch the early light, 
Or fall a victim to the law of might ! ) — 

Then will he think of thee — for he has heard 

That there is yet an unpolluted spot 
Where freedom dwells, and every heart is stirred 

To indignation, at the laws that blot 

The pages of our statute books ; and not 
The very tools of slavery, if there be 

One such within its precincts, (and I wot 
That, Oberlin, some whilom were in thee,) 
Would dare when there to bend the servile knee ! 

Thus hath the bondman heard : and as he pants 
With weariness, and rests his tired feet, 

He thinks of thee, as of the blessed haunts 
Of liberty, fair goddess ! and the seat 
Of all that's good on earth, or that is meet 

To dwell in human hearts ; and as he dreams 
His grief-worn breast becomes with bliss replete, 

For he to tread thy longed-for forests seems, 

And thy sweet image on his vision gleams. 

And though he wake and find it but a dream, 

Yet, when the welcome night has thrown her veil 

Upon the world again, and on him gleam 
The quiet stars, and on the northern gale 
A thousand sprites come whispering the tale — 

" Bondman, there's hope for thee ! " he '11 start anew, 
He'll stem the torrent rushing down the vale — 

He '11 climb the steep, and press the cane-brake through, 

For thou wilt be upon his spirit's view ! 



94 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

Yes, Oberlin, I love thee ! Yet hast thou 
No relative of mine — no kith nor kin ; 

With me around thy praying circles bow 
Nor father, mother, brother ; nor within 
That favored hall, whose walls have ever been 

Blessed with the presence of the clustering fair, 
Is there for me a sister, who might win 

Me thus to love thee, and to keep Despair 

From hovering ever on the brow of Care ! 

No ties of kindred bind me thus to thee ! 

Nor hast thou joys that in my native state — 
The Empire State — came bubbling up as free 

As the fresh fountains from her beds of slate : 

No sinful pleasures thine, that ever sate 
And sicken those who taste their honeyed springs 

No sports unhallowed, which the heart elate 
A moment, and then leave a thousand stings — 
And Conscience, thy dread, silent whisperings ! 

No meretricious ornaments are thine : 

No jewelled rings : no necklaces of gold 
Upon thy modest maidens ever shine : 

No ostentation of the wealth untold 

Of Ind or California ; no cold 
And heartless nabobs can within thee dwell 

For thou to aid the helpless ones art bold : — 
Upon thee Piety has thrown a spell, 
Like that of Freedom on the dauntless Tell ! 

Thine is the meek and quiet spirit : thine 

A people happy, humble, and devout ; 
The praying circle thine : and joys divine 



OBERLIN IN 1849. 95 

Shut from the bosoms of thy children out 
The gloomy spectres of Despair and Doubt : 

And holy Love, and Christian Charity, 

The fiends of Discord and Contention rout : 

The marshaled hosts of Sin in terror flee, 

Affrighted even at the thought of thee ! 

And then I love thee for the tender ties 

Of friendship, which my willing spirit bind : 
A thousand forms upon my memory rise 

Of kindred beings, who upon my mind 

Impress indelible have left of kind, 
And sympathizing deeds and feelings, which 

Have soothed me oft when I with sadness pined : 
Yet not by praise : — they could not make me rich : — 
They keyed my soul to their own hallowed pitch ! 

I love thee, Oberlin ! For thou hast dared 

To take a high, an elevated stand, 
For God's oppressed and poor ; and thou hast bared 

The sword of truth for right and freedom ; and 

Hast lifted up thy voice, that through the land, 
From Florida to Oregon, the toil 

Of every laborer shall bless his hand : 
No force shall cower, and no art shall foil ! — 
Thy motto ever — " Freedom and Free Soil ! " 

I blame thee not, because thou wert deceived 
To cast thy vote for New York's favored son : 

Thy simple, unsuspecting heart believed 

The crafty tale : and thou didst think him one 
Whom thou couldst place the trust of state upon : 

Yet is he but the wily politician, 



g6 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

Who would, if he the wages might have won, 
Have kneeled to slavery ! Pardon the suspicion, — 
But he is still the Kinderhook magician ! 

To all the people — and through all the land, 
Thou shouldst the boon of freedom aim to cast ! 

Not stoop to let the haughty southron brand 

The stamp of slavery, where from spire and mast, 
Unshackled, proudly floats upon the blast, 

The star-gemmed banner of a nation free ! 
No line, that once a child of Freedom passed 

May be again enslaved, should ever be, 

Nor most of all, be by consent of thee ! 

Thy friends have sometimes trembled for thee, when 

Thy towering intellects upon the field 
Of free discussion met. For thine are men 

Who what they deem the truth will never yield, 

Till death in silence hath their lips ensealed. 
Such fear is groundless ! Bigotry and Hate 

Have long, too long, the streams of thought congealed ! 
Give then those streams free course, and let debate 
Sift every question both of church and state ! 

It frights me not to see the earnest clash 
Of independent and opposing thought ! 

Give me the eye that will not shrink to flash 
Its indignation, in the face of aught 
It deems untruthful — and will quail at naught ! 

Give me the heart that with its theme grows warm ; 
When with phlogiston the foul air is fraught, 

Then let the lightning scathe corruption's form ! 

Welcome we then the thunder and the storm ! 



OBERLIN IN 1849. 97 

Then with the petrel on her restless wing, 

We look with gladness on the heaving flood ! 
The tempest then is a most pleasing thing ! 

Such "discord, harmony" well "understood!" 

Such "partial evil, universal good!" 
Then as thou art, continue yet to be ! 

Thy mind diverse as is the varied wood, 
Thy speech unshackled — and thy thought as free 
As the winged lightning or the chainless sea ! 

And woman, too, can here assert her right 
To be man's equal — not his serf, his tool : 

Not here is she debarred of mental light — 

The light of science : not here must the rule — 
" Woman must bend beneath her master's stool, 

And humbly listen to his high behest," 

Be law and gospel ! No — here is a school 

Where intellect, however it be dressed 

In sex and color, blessing, may be blest ! 

"Genius no color — Genius knows no sex!" 

Nature has stamped upon creation's brow 
This noble truth, to harass and to vex 

The tyrant from its birth-time until now ! 

And it must be — it shall be ! Heedless how 
The tiger in his toils may writhe and foam ; 

Man shall not always to his brother bow, 
Nor woman be man's victim ! — for the gnome 
Of sin shall fall beneath his tottering dome ! 



98 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



FREEDOM'S DAWNING* 

T~*HE light of Freedom beameth ! 
"*■ The misty shadows flee ! 
Shout, bondman ! for there gleameth 

A ray of hope for thee ! 
Dispel thy grief and sadness ; — 

There greets thee, from above, 
That " better time " of gladness, 

Of liberty and love ! 

And thou, disfranchised freeman 1 — 

Not now shall miscalled law 
Hang o'er thee like a demon, 

To keep thy soul in awe ! 
Let gladness in thee waken ! — 

God all thine ills shall cure ! 
Another step is taken ! — 

Thy " Final Triumph's sure I " 

Be not of hope forsaken : 

Let joy gleam in thine eye : 
Thine oath may now be taken, 

And not be deemed a lie ! 
Uncared thy hue or order, 

Unheeded whence thou come, 
Within Ohio's border, 

Thou now can'st find a home ! 

* Written for and sung at the meeting in Commemoration of 
the Repeal of the Ohio Black Laws, held Feb. 21, 1849, in the 
church at Oberlin. The Repeal was effected on Feb. 7* 



A SKETCH. 99 



Though statutes erst have bound thee, 
And close thy chains were sealed — 

Those chains are falling round thee ! — 
Those statutes are repealed ! 

And soon with every other, 
Of every hue and clan, 

Thou'lt be an equal brother — 

An EQUAL BROTHER-MAN ! 



A SKETCH. 

,# T*IS midnight, — hour of peace and rest: 

And bird and blossom sweet are sleeping 
The moon has long since sought the west 

With watching wearied ; but are keeping 
The stars their tireless vigils still, 
O'er lake and streamlet, vale and hill. 

'Tis midnight : — and upon the wave 
The night doth her enchantments fling ; 

All — all is silent as the grave 

Save the dark waters murmuring — 

Scarce rippling, regular and slow 

In mellow harmony they flow. 

They glow beneath the brilliant stars 
That thickly stud the bending sky, 

The light south wind that scarcely mars 
Their surface, gently passes by. 

Sweet spirit ! O it emblems well 

Thine, Holy One of Israel ! 



IOO COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

Where'er thou art — if pressed with grief, 
If sorrow weighs thy spirit down, 

If thou wouldst seek and find relief 

From man's cold smile and withering frown, 

If thou dost loathe the world and find 

No kindred spirit in thy kind — 

Come when repose the midnight brings, 
When every breeze that hurries by 

Seems rustling of an angel's wings, 
And every star an angel's eye, 

Seek then thy God. The woes you feel 

He knows — and knowing he will heal ! 

This is his fitting temple ; — these 

Rough rocks his altars ; — here their hymn 

The waves swell to the passing breeze 
Like the full song of seraphim : 

Here, Father, man may well to thee 

Lift up the voice, and bend the knee ! 

List ! — 'tis a footstep : Who art thou, 
Thou stranger, that thou dost intrude 

Thy presence at this hour ? how ! 
A lady ? in this solitude ? 

At midnight too ? Hush ! on the air 

Come the low tones of whispered prayer. 

" Father, receive my lifted cry : — 

My husband — be his God — his guide ! 

O, when the tempest fearfully 
Is raging, safely may he ride ! 

Thou Ruler of the storm, be near 

To shield him, and he need not fear ! 



A SKETCH. 10 1 



" Remember, too, his babes, that he 
So dearly loves : watch over them : 

Keep them from sin and danger free : 
Thou knowest that a diadem 

He would not prize so high : — O keep 

Those loved ones, Father, as they sleep." 

She ceases : — now she looks afar 
Out on the wave, but she can see 

Naught but the heaving deep ; there are 
No traces there of life — the free 

Winds course unhindered: — with a sigh, 

She wipes a tear-drop from her eye. 

She stands a moment, and then turns 
And leaves the beach. I am alone 

Again with God. O, how there burns 
Within the soul, when one is thrown 

Upon himself, the flames of thought, 

The fire from God's own altar caught ! 

Here is the place for thought. The sea 
That rolls beneath — the hidden wrecks 

Within its bosom — ships that be 
Upon its surface — with their decks 

And holds, with richest treasure fraught, 

All — all are fruitful themes of thought. 

And then the calmness of the hour 
Sheds hallowed influence on the soul, 

We know, and own, and feel its power, 
And willing yield to its control ; 

Sweet foretaste of that promised rest, 

In the bright mansions of the blest. 



102 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



But hark ! A rumbling sound is heard, 
The distant thunder low and deep ; 

Now startled screams the wild sea-bird, 
The waves no more in silence sleep — 

And storm-clouds marshal in the sky 

Their deadliest artillery ! 

Earth echoes back the horrid din ! 

While fiercely gleams the light above 
Through the black folds, as when on sin 

Flashes the angered eye of Jove, 
Heaven weeps a flood ; and over all 
Spreads the dense darkness like a pall ! 

The hostile sea bears to the land : 
The rocks a serried front present : 

They meet the rushing billows — and 
The leaping waves asunder rent, 

By the sharp juttings, howl and roar 

And powerless fall upon the shore ! 

See in the fitful light — a bark 
Far in the eastern horizon — 

Again she's lost amid the dark ! 
O, sailors, lift your orison 

And nerve each sinewy arm ! O, haste 

Armed death is on the water's waste ! 

Close-reefed the vessel rides the sea : 
Now on the billow's topmost height, 

Anon she drops down gracefully, 
And almost vanishes from sight ! 

Seems hovering o'er her trembling form 

The shadowy spirit of the storm ! 



A SKETCH, 103 



" All hands on deck ! " The word is given 

And scarcely given ere obeyed ; 
The pilot eyes the scowling heaven, 

And he, who never was afraid, 
Though billows were like mountains piled, 
Shrinks now, and trembles like a child. 

" O God ! " he cries, " wilt thou not spare 
To me, though I have sinned, my life ? 

Hear, righteous Father! hear my prayer! 
Not for myself, but O, my wife 

And my sweet babes, for them and her, 

Spare, Father, spare the mariner! " 

Alas ! his urgent prayer is vain : 
The bark is tossed midway in air — 

Her topmasts kiss the waves : again 

She rights : " My hearties, don't despair!" 

He cries. But ah — the vessel tossed 

Upon her beams — reels — sinks — she's lost! 

Night now withdraws her sable pall, 
The blithe morn glides across the sea ; 

The storm has ceased its raging — all 
Again is calm, and peacefully 

Now heaves the bosom of the deep 

As breast of innocence in sleep ! 

Nor gather clouds their threatening — nor 
Across the skies the thunders run — 

Shout the rude billows on the shore — 
Laugh the glad waters in the sun ; 

Which now lights up the smiling sky, 

As joy-beams light a maiden's eye! 



104 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

But O ! when sorrow on the soul, 

Sits like a midnight incubus, 
When waves of anguish o'er us roll 

What then are smiling skies to us ? 
Their joyousness seems but to be 
A mocking of our misery. 

The wreck lies beating on the beach, 
And shattered masts, and riven spars, 

And human corpses, each with each, 
Lie intermingled : lusty tars 

In whose strong breasts last eve were leaping 

Life's currents, with the dead are sleeping. 

Oh ! who upon that scene could look 
Nor think of her with widowed heart, 

Of all her earthly hopes forsook ? 

From what unfeeling breast would start 

No deep-drawn sigh — and for her woe 

Where is the eye that would not flow ? 

She saw the wreck — she saw the face 

Of him, her idol and her pride, 
Enstamped with death's cold seal — the trace 

Of the destroyer saw and died ! 
Died like the ivy with the oak 
When rifte* ; by the thunder stroke ! 

She looked upon him as he lay 

Half covered with the bursting surge — 

She looked and shrieked — and fell — and they 
Received a common grave and dirge. 



THE PETITION. 105 



THE PETITION. 

/GUILTY before thee, 
^^ Helpless, undone, 
May I adore Thee, 
Merciful One? 



Unto thine altar 
Dare I draw nigh ? 

Let me not falter ! — 
Let me not die. 

Ah, me ! a sinner, 
I may not come 

Unto the inner 

Court of thy dome ! 

There thine immortal 
Cherubim are, 

But by the portal 
Stand I afar ! 

Sin has undone me, 
But thou hast died! 

Have mercy on me, 
O crucified ! 

Dwellers in heaven 
Shout it aloud ! 

I am forgiven ! 
Glory to God ! 



106 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. 

(Written for an Album.) 

TT is not the deep-heaving sigh — 

It is not the gush of a tear — 
It is not the languishing glance of the eye, 
Nor the grasp of the hand, nor the parting "good-bye," 

Nor words the heart holds dear : — 
None of these ! — No, there's nothing of fashion or art 
That can show that true friendship is held in the heart ! 

Yet think not that these I despise : 

I would not thus lightly esteem 
The tiniest link in the beautiful chain 
That binds in communion the spirits of men ! — 

Such links all these I deem ! 
But the false and the wicked may use them amiss, 
E'en the Saviour of men was betrayed by a kiss ! 

If sympathy dwells in the soul 

It aye will discover its own, 
A spell which we cannot and would not control 
Rests on us — we feel it — 'tis over the whole 

Of the friendly circle thrown. 
Thy friendship is mine, my friendship is thine ! 
No symbol is needed — we care for no sign ! 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

T F 'tis sweet to have the record 

Of the names of friends — of those 
Dear ones who drive from the checkered 
Sky of life, its gathering woes — 



CALIFORNIA— THE INVITATION. 107 

Woes that threaten — woes that lower 
Like the tempest-nursing cloud — 

Woes at which our spirits cower, 
And by which our souls are bowed : 

If when severed hearts are lonely, 

It be sweet to look upon, 
Words the absent traced — though only 

But a line ; — and if we con 
Frequently this kind expression 

Of the feelings of the heart ; 
And of this, if the impression 

Never wholly may depart ; 

May we not suppose, Lucina, 

There's an album kept above, 
By the Saviour ? (where combine a 

Thousand tokens of his love ! ) 
Where he writes each thought and saying 

Of His friends, and O, how blest, 
If, by his commands obeying, 

Ours be found among the rest ! 



CALIFORNIA-THE INVITATION. 
1850. 
" /^OME from the workshop and the farm, 
^ Ye strong of limb and stout of heart, 
Gird up the loin and bare the arm, 
Hang up the implements of art ! 
Why care ye for your homesteads old, 
Come to the land of gold ! 



108 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

" Husband — who just hast called a bride 

To decorate and rule thy home, 
Father — around whose fireside 

The buds of love are clustering come ! 
Leave them or bring them — but be bold — 
Come to the land of gold ! 

" Come from beneath the polar star, 
In whose cold light the icebergs gleam, 

Come from New England's hills afar, 

From Hoosac's heights, and Hudson's stream ; 

Ohio's sons — ye noble-souled, 
Come to the land of gold ! 

" Lay off the ermine — whom the law 
Hath made its minister and priest ! 

Physician — leave the knife and saw, 
And let the worm enjoy his feast ! 

Why need another shroud unfold ? 
Come to the land of gold ! 

" Come by the desert and the sea ! 

By mountain pass and rocky way ! 
Come ! though the waves should yawn for thee, 

Or thou shouldst keep the wolves at bay, 
Sleepless and armed — unfed and cold — 
Come to the land of gold ! " 

They went without a sigh, without regret, 

The princely merchant and his whiskered clerk, 

And stalwart smith, begrimed with dirt and sweat, 
The husbandman with sinews strong for work, 
The politician »vith his practised smirk, 



CALIFORNIA — THE IN VITA TION 1 09 

The dainty fop, the yeomen of the world, 

Christian and Jew, Frank, African, and Turk, 
With portly bishops, crosiered, shaved, and stoled, 
Their scattered flocks forgotten in the thirst for gold ! 

They went — a motley and unguided mass, 

Each with his hair unkempt and matted beard ; 

His table and his couch alike, the grass, 

His visage with the sunbeams seamed and seared, 
Whence spectral eyes, with look suspicious peered ; 

Now on he tugged — now vacantly gazed back, 
Now with a song his sinking mules he cheered, 

Now halting, tighter girt his muddy pack, 

Then pressed again along his melancholy track ! 

They went — and many perished on the way, 

They starved upon the dreary roadside where 
The wolf and buzzard found a ready prey ; 

Or sunk beneath the sun's distressing glare ; 

Or in the desert on the ashy air, 
Smothered and died in agony untold : 

Or else the savage, howling from his lair, 
Sprang on them as the wolf upon the fold ! 
Still others filled their place — such is the lust for gold ! 

I may not longer weave my lay — too long 
I've trespassed on your patience even now, 

Yet, Christian, think not mine an idle song, 

'Tis fraught with solemn truth ! With ready prow 
For sordid wealth, a thousand vessels plow 

The boiling deep, with daring souls well manned ! 
The votaries of Mammon ask not how 

Their will may be accomplished ! They command 

And it is done ! There lacketh neither heart nor hand ! 



IIO COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

But ask for men to work for God, and you 
Are turned away unheeded, and the laugh 

Of scorn is yours. Except a chosen few, 
Men all have bended to the golden calf, 
Whose bitter ashes they must sometimes quaff ! 
His hand shall smite, where falls his lifted staff ! 

Their direful punishment no pen may write ! 

Distress, and pain, and anguish, through eternal night. 



THE DROP. 

A LITTLE drop from a rose's cup, 
"^^ Looked out upon the sky, 
And wistfully peered in the depths of blue, 

With its sparkling, tiny eye, 
And saw the stars, in their sapphire cars, 

As they rode in grandeur by. 

Again it saw the gilded clouds, 

Bright boats in the upper sea* 
Where spirits gay, in gladness play, — 

No breakers on the lea, 
Nor wandering ghost of mariner lost 

To check their revelry. 

But O, a sight more glorious still 

Came o'er its raptured gaze, 
The sky had changed, and it saw the bow 

Which the Merciful One displays, 
When the trembling wood fears the thunder and flood, 

And the lightning's livid blaze ! 



THE DROP. 1 1 r 



It thought it a path to Paradise, 

Or a bridge by angels trod, 
Or perhaps it was heaven itself, the arch 

That hung o'er the throne of God ! 
As it eagerly sought, it could see what it thought 

The spirits awaiting his nod. 

Then it wished for the wings of a swallow to fly 

Away to that glorious land : — 
Just then a ray of light came down, 

And like a silver wand, 
Transformed it into vapor as thin 

As the scent from the lavender fanned. 

Then it rapidly rose upon the air, 

Over lofty dome and spire, 
As swift as the lark, or the springing spark, 

From the widow's funeral pyre, 
Till it mingled to share, with its sisters there, 

Its innermost heart's desire. 

Thus we may gaze, till we forget 

Earth's charms, its joy, its love ; 
Thus gazed the seer in Patmos, when 

The spirit taught him of 
The golden streets, and gates of pearl 

In that bright realm above. 

As the glittering drop in the rose's cup, 

Which the sunbeam stoops to kiss, 
We too may rise ; but we must first 

Transfer our thoughts from this 
Our gross and earthly sphere, if we 

Would reach that land of bliss. 



112 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 



"why stand ye here all the day idle?" 

IS5C. 

/^vH, why are ye idle ? There's work to be done, 
^^ And a task allotted to every one — 
The world needs your labor — and you need it too, 
Gird yourself for the work — there is something to do! 

Your bodies are puny — your muscles are weak, 

And a dull saffron hue dyes your brow and your cheek ! 

And your mind ! Oh, for shame ! you were better with 

none, 
Than to let it rust thus ! There is work to be done ! 

There is grain to be reaped ; there are lands to be tilled ; 
There are backs to be clothed ; there are mouths to be 

filled ! 
The mission of Labor has scarcely begun — 
Then why are ye idle ? There's work to be done! 

There's a slave in the South ; and the terrible mesh 
Of the iron of bondage wears deep in his flesh ! 
And Humanity weeps over mother and son 
To the cotton-field doomed ! There is work to be done ! 

There are factories where by the lamp's yellow light 

The sick and the famishing toil all the night ! 

There are mines, whose wan inmates ne'er look on the 

sun, 
And they perish uncared for! There's work to be 

done ! 




Winter, Cold and Bare. 



A WINTER SONG. II3 

There are couches of pain, where the fever-fiend's 

breath 
Hath scorched the pale victim, and marked him for 

death — 
Perchance there are those who by thee might be won 
From the jaws of the monster — there's work to be 

done! 

There are hearts piled in heaps on the plains where the 

gore 
In libations has poured to the demons of war! 
And the sword of the Goth — and the torch of the Hun, 
Are the heirloom of nations ! There is work to be 

done! 

There are dark-minded men in the isles of the sea, 
Bowing down in the grossness of idolatry ; 
By the dark Ganges side — and where boils in the sun 
The turbid Gaboon, there is work to be done ! 

" Life is real ! " O, think ye who trifle with time 
And pamper your lusts with the wages of crime — 
O, think you, the glance of the judge ye can shun ? 
Rouse ye then ! — to your labor ! There's work to be 
done! 



A WINTER SONG. 

"'"PIS winter — gloom invests the earth 

And overhangs the sky ; 
The heavy clouds, on wood and stream, 
Are frowning sullenly ; 



114 COLLEGE AND EARLT POEMS. 

The frost's chill hand has touched the brook 

That warbled in its bed — 
Its fitful pulse has ceased to beat 

Beneath the ice we tread! 

But though the gusts howl o'er the hills, 

And from the maddened gale, 
The snow in drifts is hurrying 

To hide it in the dale ; 
And to the tempest bends the trees, 

The maple and the linn, 
Yet reck we not the storm without 

If there be calm within ! 

No matter whether by the fire, 

Or in the pelting storm, 
The cold wind ne'er can chill our joys, 

If but the heart be warm ! 
Aye, there may be a calm within 

The blast may strive to reach 
As vainly as the ocean waves 

To overleap the beach ! 



SONNET. 

T^ATHER — to thee anew I consecrate 
Myself and all I e'er may hope to be ; 
Take thou the offering — it belongs to thee; 
And O, do thou thyself so increate 
Thyself within me that all lust and hate 
And pride and sin of every form may flee ! 
O, Father, stamp thine image thus on me 
That I may be like thee immaculate! 



THE CONVERTS' MEETING. 115 

Ask I too much ? Has not thy word been given 

To us, "Be holy for that I am holy?" 

And did our Saviour, thy Co-equal Son, 

Bid us be perfect as our Sire in heaven ? 

I plead thy promise. If this be not folly 

O make me like thyself — thou Holy One! 



THE CONVERTS' MEETING. 

TT was eve in the winter — her reign in the sky 
The "pale empress of night" had yet scarcely 
begun, 
The angel-winged cloudlets flew hurriedly by 
As blushing they fled from the kiss of the sun. 

It was eve in the winter, and early for prayer 

The young converts had gathered them as they were 
wont, 

In the session-room over the church entry, where 
The souls had been washed in the heavenly font. 

O hour of bliss ! What wonder they raise 

Their hands and their hearts in thanksgiving to Him 

Who hath left them no shadow to darken their days 
To sadden their souls, and their Hope-light to dim. 

How child-like, how simple, how sweet were their 
words ! 

Yet how far were they all that is earthly above ! 
How they went to the heart and its tenderest chords 

Attuned to the tones of contrition and love ! 



Il6 COLLEGE AND EARLT POEMS. 

It was eve in the winter — I may not forget 

For the gay and the giddy were treading the dance, 

The measured quadrille and the light minuet, 

And proud hearts were melting to beauty's soft 
glance. 

And the pearls on her brow and the gold on her arms 
Shone brilliant by lamplight and aided to win — 

And the shower of curls scarcely guarded her charms 
As she moved like a sylph — in the mazes of sin ! 

What wealth could procure and what fancy devise, 
And what luxury pampered could crave for were 
there, 

But however enchanting, it could not entice 

Those converts away from their meeting of prayer ! 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

HHHE treasured memories of years — 

The choicest of Affection's sheaves, 
Mementoes of a thousand fears, 

Hopes, griefs, rejoicings, smiles and tears, 
Are gathered on these leaves. 

Distant, but still to fancy near, 

Perchance thou now art thinking of 

Friends who, to recollection dear, 
At parting kindly left thee here 
The token of their love. 



THE PARTING. 117 



Here are the traces of the dead, 

The delicate or heavy hand, 
Of fair or stalwart forms — all fled 

From the loved haunts they used to tread, 
Fled to the spirit land. 

As from a hero's tomb, a law 
Within me, bids turn me thence 

In meek humility and awe, 

So from these pages I withdraw 
My hand in reverence. 



THE PARTING. 

" T^^S me » Nearest maid, and then 

Part we: Must — ah — must we part? 
Nay, another! — yet again. 

Dearest ! O, how dear thou art ! 

"How I love thee! Must I go? 

What a moment this to us ! 
Stay, thine arms around me throw ! 

O, good bye ! It must be thus ! 

"Can we leave each other? O, 

Can I live without thee, love ? 
Time is flying! — I must go! 

God be with thee, tender dove ! 

"God be with thee! Shall we kneel? — 
Let us, loved one — kneel and pray ! — 

He's our Father — He can feel 

For his children! — Shall we? — Say?" 



Il8 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

Sweet the maiden whispered — "yes," 
Then they kneeled, that plighted pair, 

And the tones of tenderness 

Changed to tones of earnest prayer. 

If 'tis e'er to mortals given, 
To foreknow the bliss above, 

'Tis when earth thus reaches heaven — 
And religion blesses love ! 



TO JEANNE. 

TVJEVER art thou absent, dearest, 

^ From my thoughts by night or day ; 

Nay, I know not whether nearest 

Thou art now when far away, 
Or wast when to me I won thee 
And as mine first looked upon thee. 

Much I think of thee, and often, 

And the pangs of exile thus 
Does Imagination soften; 

Memory, too, mysterious, 
Wondrous power, oft dispenses 
Uncontrolled, her influences. 

Days I've spent with thee, bright, joyous, 
Full of Hope and Love, again 

Come to me, when to annoy us 

There was naught, and naught of pain : 

Life can not be dark and gloomy, 

Memory's light is left unto me ! 



LOVE SONG. 119 



Thus I sit and thoughtful ponder 
On the ties that bind our hearts — 

It is said a soul may wander, 

Moved by strange and mystic arts, 

From its tenement released, clairvoyant, 

And on unseen pinions buoyant. 

It is said it thus may visit 

Absent ones, the hearts beloved, 

Is it true ? I know not. Is it 
Thus when dear ones are removed 

That sometimes in dreams of beauty 

Memory is recalled to duty ? 

If 'tis false there is no danger 

In the influence it brings, 
Why not true ? It is not stranger 

Than a thousand truthful things ; 
And to me 'tis passing pleasant 
Now, Jeanne, to deem thee present. 

Never absent art thou, dearest, 

Never do I thee forget ; 
To my vision thou appearest 

When the seal of sleep is set 
On my eye and lip; — a seeming 
Like to thee comes in my dreaming. 



LOVE SONG. 

Imitation of Burns. 

IV/TY love is gazing on the moon, 

And thinking of her absent one. 
I'll gaze upon the moon with her, 
As Luna's earnest worshipper. 



120 COLLEGE AND EARLT POEMS. 

Yet 'tis not that I reverence thee, 
Phoenicia's ancient deity ; 
But light my love doth shed on thee, 
Is sweet reflected back to me. 

Yet faithless mirror, why purloin 

The choicest of thy trust divine ? 

The warmth she giveth why withhold ? 

Thy beams are bright — but cold — how cold ! 

But Jenny's heart is warm and free, 
And that warm heart she gave to me ; 
And from her eyes gleam, as they rove, 
Love's light with all the warmth of love. 



I AM LONELY. 

1S50. 

T AM lonely, so lonely, 
** When parted from thee ! 
My loved one, my only, 
O, hasten to me ! 

When I left thee, my own one, 

The woods were yet green 
With the leafage of summer, 

With emerald sheen ! 
And the field corn unhardened 

Was still in its milk! 
And its leaves waved like pennons, 

Like sashes in silk ! 



/ AM LONELT. 121 



And the wheat stalks which quarried 

The grain from the soil, 
On their shoulders were bearing 

The fruit of their toil ! 

I am lonely, so lonely ! 

When parted from thee ! 
My loved one, my only, 

O hasten to me ! 

In the gay robes of autumn, 

Now dresses the wold, 
The black-walnut in silver, 

The maple in gold. 
And the ripe stacks are standing, 

Like tents in the yard ; 
With a few scattered sheaves left 

Like soldiers on guard ! 
And the sky has grown mellow, 

Like fruit in the sun ! 

how long since I left thee, 
My beautiful one ! 

1 am lonely, so lonely ! 
When parted from thee I 

My loved one, my only, 
O hasten to me ! 

Soon the dark storms of winter, 
Shall frown from the north : 

And the time when the snow hordes, 
Come issuing forth 



122 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

On the glories of summer, 

Like Vandals on Rome, 
And the winds are a tempest ! — 

When that time shall come, 
Yet, the storm and the darkness, 

I'll welcome them here ! 
They are sunlight and beauty, 

If the loved one be near ! 

But I'm lonely — so lonely, 
When parted from thee ! 

My loved one, my only, 
O hasten to me ! 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

\K /ELL mayst thou hold the records dear; 

A hallowed pleasure they impart : 
Beloved ones have copied here 
The dearer records of the heart. 

And Memory may forget the trust, 
Which was committed to her care ; 

Or Time may cover o'er with dust 
The tablet she received so fair. 

And friends whom Hope had promised firm 
May sometimes let affection rove ; 

Or absence like a canker worm, 
Eat out the very heart of love. 



PRIDE. 123 



And then a book, a lock of hair, 
A simple verse at parting penned, 

May make thee unforgotten, where 
Thou wouldst without have lost a friend. 

Then, banished to a distant land, 

Love will not change with change of clime, 
For Memory, with careful hand, 

Will brush away the dust of Time. 

Then ever hold these pages dear, 

From choicer wealth thou canst not part ; 

The absent and the loved have here 
Transcribed the records of the heart. 



PRIDE. 

HTHE proud man, what is he, and to what shall I 
compare him ? 

He is the leaf, that, breaking from the forest tree that 
bare it, 

(For he seemeth independent of his fellows and of 
God) 

Flies off disdainfully, delighted with its freedom, 

And knoweth not that Death hath already marked his 
victim, — 

That all its gorgeous tintings are the sacrificial gar- 
lands, — 

That the breeze that bears it loftily, like a monarch in 
his triumph, 

Conveys it to disgrace — to its final destination 



124 COLLEGE AND EARLY POEMS. 

Among rottenness and filth, and the slime of loath- 
some reptiles, 

Where beasts shall tread upon it, and the ugly earth- 
worm eat it ! 

Pride is a cancer in the character of manhood ; 

It preyeth on the soul and defraudeth it of glory ; 

Yet it knoweth not of shame; though a loathsome 
putrefaction, 

It keeps its place among the godlike lineaments of 
beauty. 

Pride — what is it? and to what shall I compare it? 

It is the fair and round apple that doth hang upon an 
oak — 

A dust is within it, suffocating and disgusting, 

And offensive to the pure, as the savor of tobacco ! 

Yet there is a proper spirit, which is oftentimes mis- 
called, 

Which the ignorant mistake, and suppose it to be pride : 

There's a consciousness of worth, and a sense of in- 
nate merit, 

Which wisdom may not blame, nor philosophy condemn. 

It is like the gorgeous bloom of the magnolia grandi- 
flora, 

As it rises to the sky in its dignity and strength ; 

Let it wave its massive boughs, and display its huge 
proportions, 

For it has whereof to boast, and with all its flowery 
antlers, 

There is nothing more of show than comporteth with 
its worth. 

Thus, when the child of Genius assumes his fitting 
station. 



FADED FLOWERS. 1 25 

Propriety is never shocked, but smileth an approval, 
E'en though that station be among the greatest of the 

great. 
But the simpleton that thinketh to climb above his 

betters, 
And holds his head aloft, and scorneth them a glance, 
Shall feel full soon the meaning of the word of inspira- 
tion — 
" Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit 
before a fall." 



FADED FLOWERS. 

HP HE flowers have faded I received from thee : 
Alas, thus every thing of earth is blighted ! 
It blooms and it evanishes, and we 

Ere yet Hope's transient taper scarce is lighted, 
See in its rays each fond-loved object flee! 

Friends die or change — no matter which — affection 
Is ever blasted if of earth it be, 

And wounds the spirit with its recollection. 

But there's a land whose flowers ever bloom, 

No mildews blight nor scorching sunbeams wither, 
And plants of earth new beauties do assume, 

And hues unfading if transplanted thither. 
And if thou there shouldst gather a boquet, 

O how its modest graces would become thee ! 
A single leaflet would not fall away, 

No envious hand should ever pluck it from thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



OTTERBEIN. 
Written in an Album. 

f^OULD we look through the shadows that hang o'er 
^ the morning, 

And see how the sun breaketh up through the night, 
Would we ever despair of beholding him turning 

The dark clouds to visions of glory and light ? 

Would we pause to reflect upon all that's unpleasant, 
And foster our sorrow, and sigh o'er our shame ? 

No, our spirits would leap from the gloom of the present, 
And drink of the goblets of noon e'er they came ! 

And shall Hope, with her dreams of prosperity, shun us, 
When the windows of Otterbein gleam in the morn ? 

And the sun of success is just dawning upon us, 

Though still, by the mist, of his beams he be shorn ? 

No, our fancy shall paint us the students that ramble, 

Alone, or in groups, through the fields and the 

groves, 

Where the gopher and hare in the summer-time 

gambol, 

And the red squirrel gathers the nuts which he loves. 



THE SLAVER'S CATECHUMENS. \2J 

Where the sycamores stoop o'er the bank of the river, 
And daintily moisten their locks in the stream, 

And the wind in the branches is laughing forever, 
Like a lost one that seeth his home in a dream ! 

As they talk of the past, of its hope and its sorrow, 
In their respite from study, while wandering thus, 

They will mention our names, and the pledge of good 
morrow, 
Will blend with the promise to imitate us ! 



THE SLAVER'S CATECHUMENS. 

T \ TE lie beneath the slaver's deck, 

Rotting and steaming, cheek to cheek ! 
With ulcered bones forever aching ! 
With hearts despairing, breaking — breaking! 
A missionary voyage taking! 

The missionary o'er our heads — 

We hear him as he nightly treads ; 

We hear his voice as he rehearses 

His merry Bacchanalian verses, 

And blends commands with christian curses ! 

He treads the deck, with sword and dirk, 
And pistols for his pious work ! 
His life, with blood and goodness florid, 
Beams from his snaky eye, and forehead 
By passion seamed and sword-cut scarred ! 



128 MISCELLANEOUS. 

With inner joy our souls should glow, 
Dreaming upon that holy brow, 
Where murderous deeds have left their traces, 
And lust and rapine — gifts and graces 
Distinctive of the higher races ! 

When morn by morn the good man opes 
The hatches, and half-blinded gropes, 
The pestilential stench defying, 
On rum and loaded arms relying, 
Seeking the dead among the dying — 

A very Paul he seems to rise 
Sublime in his self-sacrifice ! 
All impulse smothered in devotion, 
He seizes and without emotion 
Plunges the corpses in mid-ocean ! 

And when some unconverted chief, 

Rebels in sullen unbelief! — 

Then all the angel we discover! 

For though the sharks around us hover, 

The shrieking wretch, unshrived, goes over! 

We dread the night — we dread the morn! 
The free winds shout without in scorn ! 
The free waves mock us with their laughter ! 
The free bark flaps her sails thereafter ! 
And the free dolphins roll abaft her ! 

To the old cocoas and the palms, 
To breezes rich with spice and balms, 
To rare fruits in the jungles hidden, 




Song of the Brook. 



SONG OF THE BROOK-RIPPLES. 1 29 

To birds whose songs came all unbidden, 
To lakes where slave boats ne'er have ridden, 

To our own land sometimes return 
Our lawless thoughts — and our hearts burn 
For the wild joys of barbarism, 
Unmarred by chains or catechism! — 
So clings to us our paganism ! 



SONG OF THE BROOK-RIPPLES. 

1852. 

A WAY to the sea ! the sea ! 
-** Cheerily ! 
Onward we go in a noisy flow 
Over the pebbles and hedges, Ho ! 
Merry waves are we ! 

Away to the sea ! the sea ! 

Stealthily 
Wind through the pastures, or else our bed, 
Cattle will muddy with their tread ! 

Prudent waves be we ! 

Away to the sea ! the sea ! 

Silently ! 
Graves of the dead we are gliding round, 
Lightly we'll pass by the hallowed ground ! 

Reverent waves be we ! 

Away to the sea ! the sea ! 

Cheerily ! 
Haste we away to the bounding main ! 
Shout till the old woods ring again ! 

Merry waves are we ! 



130 MISCELLANEOUS. 



SUNSET. 
1852. 

OUNSET light doth mellow 
^ From the day's pure white, 

Dazzlingly bright, 
To a golden yellow ! 

Slow the moon is rising, 

And the young night's brow, 
With the dew-drops now, 

Angels are baptizing. 

Evening is a maiden, 
Of her beauty proud, 
Yet with no sorrow bowed, 

Yet with no trouble laden, — 

Comes she scattering roses, 
On the fresh-turned clay, 
Where her sire, the Day 
In his shroud reposes. 

One star-gem she weareth, 
Where the veins soft blue, 
Deftly showing through 

On her brow appeareth. 

Robes of cloud enfold her — 
Cloud inwove with gold, 
Through the careless fold 

Glows her snowy shoulder. 



CONSCIENCE. 131 

Neath her flounces gleaming, 

Peep her rosy feet ; 

Innocent and sweet, 
But coquettish seeming. 

Yet shall so much beauty 

Vanish in an hour; 

There is life and power, 
But in deeds of duty. 



CONSCIENCE. 

T^HERE is a path across the meadow 

Where the milkers daily pass, 
Trampled 'neath their frequent footsteps 
Sere and yellow lies the grass. 

In the spring-time from my window 

Watched I when they first went through ; 

Morning danced before and scattered 
Sprays of light and flowers of dew. 

So elastic and so pliant 

Were the blades on which they trod, 
That at noon as fresh as ever, 

Bright and glassy seemed the sod. 

But the path was trodden daily 
And the green blades by and by, 

Crushed too often, lost their brightness 
And their elasticity. 



132 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thus I thought, with grass and flowers, 
Thus with consciences of men ; 

Live they till too often trampled, 
But they droop and wither then. 

Every word that's falsely spoken, 
Robs us of our moral strength ; 

Till our pledges often broken, 
Cease to be renewed at length. 

Every evil thought or feeling, 

Through the soul allowed to stray, 

Is a thief from conscience stealing 
By degrees its life away. 

Though a spirit fair as morning 

Strew the way with seeming gems ; 

That must always end in evil 

Which the inner heart condemns. 



A FABLE. 

" A WAY! away! to the ocean's blue!" 

^* Exclaimed a bright-eyed, laughing spring ! 
And down from its native rock it flew, 
A hopeful, and a joyant thing: 
It expected to leap 
At once to the deep, 
But it struck upon the crags, and fell, 
Broken and hopeless, to a well, 
Which the dryads had delved in the depths of the 
dell! 



A FABLE. 133 



"Alas!" I said, "what good can be, 
Child of the mountain, in slaying thee?" 

But the sun shone on the shattered spray, 
And a rainbow rose where the water lay: 
And a young girl stooped and dipped her pail, 
And bore her prize to her home in the vale ; 
And her mother drank of the cooling draught, 
And the fever left as the cup she quaffed : 
And a sycamore hung o'er the well its shade, 
And beneath its boughs a traveler laid, 
When high noon scorched the dusty way, 
To rest from the toil of the early day ; 
And vainly the sunbeams strove to creep, 
Like glittering snakes through the shadows deep, 
And trail o'er that traveler in his sleep ! 

And the drops collected one by one, 

Till the water burst O'er the edge of the pool, 

And down the valley laughing run, 

Like a merry school boy just from school! 

What happened beside I partly know ; 
The water went steadily on in its way, 

Or in a gentle or noisy flow, 

Now gurgling under a beech trunk gray, 
Now sportively kissing the dangling spray, 
Through many a graceful winding bent, 
It carried gladness wherever it went. 

Wild-Peas and Sweet-Williams in ranks upon ranks, 

In their holiday dress pressed to the banks ; 

And hundreds of Haws and the Hazels en masse, 



1 34 MIS CELLANE O US. 

Waded up to their knees in the tangled grass, 
In their longing to see the brooklet pass : 
And the old Oaks lifted their hands to bless 
The cause of their joy and their fruitfulness. 

Then I knew it was good that the brook should be 
Kept back for a while from the sea. 

MORAL. 

Ambition's expectant glance oft looks 
From the eyes of men as well as of brooks. 
Each of us marks out for himself a track, 

And away we run, led on by Hope, 

When our schemes are suddenly broken up 
And we from our idols are kept back : 
And thus are we often compelled to bless 
Mankind with a quiet usefulness. 

And when our visions are shattered thus 
Upon some rock's projecting shelves, 

We can see there's a power that manages us 
Far better than we can manage ourselves ! 



HYMN. 
1S52. 

TN perfect peace thou, Lord, wilt keep 

The soul that stays itself on thee ; 

Its anxious cares wilt lull to sleep, 

As the wind soothes the troubled sea. 

We will not ask thee what thou dost, 
We know our Father doeth right ; 

Thy ways are hidden, but we trust, 

Trust mid the storm and mid the night. 



IMPERFE C TION. 1 3 5 

The gathering clouds we only mark, 
That we may see thy wondrous hand ; 

We fear not for our trembling bark, 
The storm shall cease at thy command. 

But though our ship be swept away, 
And we be buried 'neath the flood, 

It is the Lord, our souls shall say, 
And let him do what seemeth good. 

If thou chastise us, we will bend, 
And bending meekly kiss the rod, 

E'en this, new joy our hearts shall lend, 
It shows us children of our God. 



IMPERFECTION. 

Jan. i, 1853. 

TT seems to me a year's revolving 

Leaves me no better than before ; 
Resolving well, and re-resolving 

Have been repeated many a score, 
And many hundred times ; or failing, 
Or very little good availing. 

At times I lay me on the altar, 
With love as ardent as a bride's, 

And think that I will never falter, 

That all the world should yield besides ; 

Perhaps an hour — a week — or longer, 

I think that I am growing stronger. 



136 MISCELLANEOUS. 

But then some sudden tempter coming, 
I am the victim of his art ; 

I fall ; and then a new illuming 

Shows some dark corner of my heart, 

On which till then no light reflected, 

Where self was ruling unsuspected. 

Then spirit broken and despairing, 
I think all efforts are in vain ; 

My agony, so past all bearing, 
I cannot dare to hope again : 

Some promise soon my spirit seizes 

Again I seek the feet of Jesus. 

Thus pass the years : if I am better 
'Tis difficult to say wherein : 

Or by the spirit or the letter 
Of law adjudged, I often sin: 

O God ! myself have quite undone me, 

If thou look not in mercy on me ! 



O 



SEA WEED. 

Written in an Album. 

>CEAN'S child, born of the waves ! 
Wanderer from Australia's caves! 
Stranger 'neath a stranger sky, 
Much hast thou my sympathy, 
For, from those to me most dear, 
I, too, am a stranger here ! 
Where the pale light spreads in smiles 
Through the jasper-fretted aisles 
Of the sea-god's rock-arched dome, — 
There hast thou thine ocean home ! 



SEA WEED. 137 



Up thy rocks the mosses clomb ; 
O'er thy head the goldfish swum ; 
O'er thee sailed the nautilus ; 
By thee grew the polypus ; 
At thy feet the Indian girl 
Sought the oyster for the pearl ; 
From the coral groves among, 
Wooed thine ear the mermaid's song ; 
Curling clouds of fleecy foam 
Floated o'er thine ocean home ! 

Glowing in the flitting lights, 
Agates, sapphires, chrysolites ; 
Rubies, such as never yet 
In a coronal were set ; 
Diamond pebbles, sands of gold, 
All around unheeded rolled — 
Valueless as earthy loam ! — 
Sea-weed, such thine ocean home ! 

Mine a home as dear to me, 
Sea-weed, as is thine to thee ; 
I would show thee sisters there, 
As the froth of ocean fair ; 
Theirs are graceful-falling curls, 
Glossier than an Indian girl's ; 
Thou to sweet-voiced mermaids cling, 
Let me hear my sisters sing ! 

Hast thou, weed, beneath the sea, 
Such a gem as piety ? 
Floats there o'er thy head above, 
Like a sylph, the form of Love ? 



138 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Diamond words by kindness wrought, 
Pearls of pure and holy thought, 
Agate deeds of gentleness, 
Mother's priceless, gold caress? — 
These are not beneath the brine ! — 
Keep thy home ! and give me mine ! 
Yet thou daughter of the sea, 
Much hast thou my sympathy ! 
Home is home, where'er it be : — 
Thine to thee, and mine to me ! 

Sea-weed, make a league with me : 
Hearts there are that cherish thee, 
In a stranger land dost thou 
Write new friendships even now : 
Since we share a common lot, 
Weave with me a true love knot ! 
Thus the double cord we'll twine ; 
Let thy friends be mine ; and mine, 
I will pledge thee, shall be thine ! 



MEMORY'S HARVEST. 

*T^HE sunset falls on field and tree, 

And Fancy sits alone and weaves 
With light and shade her tapestry ; 
And Memory brings home his sheaves. 

I look upon his growing stacks 

With something of a farmer's pride, 

For every burden which he backs 
Is meant for me, and none beside. 



MEMORY'S HARVEST. 1 39 

But you shall taste his hoarded grain, 
The harvest of his dreamy lands ; 

Sit down, and from my palms I'll rain 
The golden treasure in your hands ! 

Here has he bound a little group 
Who, lips apart and beaming eyes, 

Lean, with the scholar's earnest stoop, 
O'er Milton's song of Paradise. 

And here alone a lady sits 

By a piano ; o'er the keys 
Her hand, light as a snow bird, flits 

Through allegretto passages. 

At times her cheek a smile will wear, 

Her eye put on a pleasing look ; 
Then with a discontented air, 

She pettishly shuts up the book. 

Then on her hand her forehead bowed, 
While passion flushes go and come, 

Half to herself and half aloud, 
She wishes she was well at home. 

Now Memory's lockup ! — let me peep 
To see what he has garnered there ! 

Ah ! here's her name ! But I will keep 
This to myself — you've had your share ! 



140 MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE ECLIPSE. 
1852. 

A SIGN of fearful portent in the sky. 
*^ A shadow crept upon the sun, and cast 
Upon the earth a strange and deathly hue. 
And summer winds, that scarce an hour agone, 
Were warm and soft as love's devoutest vows, 
Hung chilled as smitten with a sudden death. 
And dews were born to an untimely birth, 
And rested on the flowers and the grass ; 
And frightened cattle moaned along the fields, 
And with stretched necks, and bended to the ground, 
Went wandering wild as when in search of one 
Slain for the market and but newly missed. 

And, with a hollow laughter as they passed, 
Each man mocked at his fellow, for a pale 
And hideous light was on their cheeks, like that 
Which in the midnight glows from molten metal 
And falls upon the workmen, till they seem 
Demons that dance around the fires of Tophet. 

A fearful shadow rested on the sun. 

Ill omen of convulsions in the state, 

Token of foul and perjured treachery! 

Men knew that it was coming ; but it came 

As death comes to a dear and loving friend 

Stamped with consumption : we have watched so long 

That we have ceased to watch, and when death comes 

It finds us unexpectant. So it came, 



THE ECLIPSE. 141 



And the vile thing it omened followed after — 
Hell following after death ! Upon the sun 
Of Liberty a shadow grim and hideous, 
More grim and hideous than the jealous moon 
May cast upon the earth, was creeping then. 
The men who represent us, recreant 
To the high trust of office, sold their votes 
To doom to slavery all the millions who 
Shall, in the generations yet to come, 
People the wide-spread prairies of Nebraska. 

When by a traitor was Messiah sold, 
And all the hopes of earth hung on the cross, 
The sun was clad in sackcloth, and was darkness 
From the sixth hour even to the ninth 
On all the earth. And when another Judas 
Had sold the world's best hopes, and Liberty, 
Like her great Author, hung upon the cross, 
Was it not well that the Egyptian darkness 
Should have its symbol in the heavens, and 
That the indignant sun should hide his face 
From such a deed, so damning and so foul ? 
That was a day of darkness and of gloom ! 
But let the hopeful soul remember this, 
Eclipses have an end. The darkness that 
Shut out the sun, when Christ was crucified, 
But ushered in a great and glorious day ! 
Then dawned the Christian era on the world ! 
And still its light is spreading and shall spread ! 

And so when Liberty was slain, and blood 

Flowed from her thorn-crowned brow and wounded side, 



42 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Though then the sun was veiled, a brighter dawn 
Shall come for us and her. She, being delivered, 
By God's determinate counsel and foreknowledge, 
By wicked hands was crucified and slain. 
But God shall raise her up, and this shall be 
The dawn of Freedom's era, and the theme 
Of her apostles, this her crucifixion. 



DAFFODILS. 

'T A HE peach blooms linger in the buds, 
* Still fearful of the breath 
Of the cold winds that shake the woods, 
And sow the fields with death. 

Wrapped warm in many a leafy fold 

Upon the swollen stems, 
The lilac and the apple hold 

Their store of flowery gems. 

But fearless of the North wind's frown, 

And fearless of the snows, 
That passionate April may shake down 

Upon their golden brows, 

As trustful and as free from doubt 
As maids whom love has won, 

My maiden daffodils come out, 
Rejoicing in the sun. 

For they have heard the young wind's lay, 

And felt his kiss the while, 
And watch him as he floats away 

With a forgiving smile. 



EVEN ME. I43 



SONG. 
T)OOR oriole, that still returning, 
Dost flutter o'er thy broken nest, 
Thy choicest notes are waked by wrong, 
And suffering doth enrich thy song ! 

In thine exhausted socket burning, 
O dying torch that flickerest, 

Ere all is dark, most clear and strong, 
Bright glows the flame that burns not long ! 

Soul, for the shattered past still yearning, 
Soul, that in life hast found no rest, 

Bright glows the flame that burns not long, 
And suffering doth enrich thy song ! 



EVEN ME. 

C AVIOUR, who wast slain for me, 

Can I — can I still offend thee 
Must I ever thus continue ? 
Look on me ! Even me ! 

Was it not for my salvation 

Thou didst hang upon the tree ! 

Pardon — pardon my transgression! 
Pity me ! Even me ! 

'Neath my heavy burden, bending 
In my woe, I look to thee. 

Spurn me not for my offending ! 
Look on me ! Even me ! 



144 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Jesus, Saviour, who wast offered 
Once for sin on Calvary, 

Was it not for me thou suffered ? 
Even me ! Even me ! 

Satan threatens to undo me ! 

Shame is mine and misery ! 
All around is dark and gloomy ! 

Pity me ! Even me ! 

Light and life ! and lord and lover ! 

Still I turn me unto thee ! 
Wilt thou not thy grace discover 

Unto me ? Even me ! 

Yes, thou hast a place in heaven, 
Where a soul like mine may be ; 

Even me thou hast forgiven ! 
Even me! Even me! 



THE PROFESSOR'S COURTSHIP. 

'T^HE sun was at an angle of 
Some ten degrees a-nigh ; 
The day drew near its dew-point, love, 
And near my due point, I. 

Soon glancing skyward from beneath 

Our arching, trysting tree ; 
We saw the lovely Venus with 

The bookish Mercury. 



LOTTIE. 145 



They, beaming on the lingering day, 

Forbade the night to fall — 
And sprung from their united ray, 

Our day perennial. 

Though but one word, and coy and faint 

At that, thou didst express ; 
My ear watched for the sibilant, 

And caught the modest, "Yes,'* 

All mingled sounds of harmony 

Trilled then my nerves along: 
E'en what the toad sang from the tree, 

Seemed a melodious song ! 

Then from thy lips a current came, 

More pleasant e'en than that 
From cups galvanic, till aflame 

Was all my soul thereat. 

LOTTIE. 

March 17, 1S57. 

A LITTLE stray lamb crept into my fold, 

The snow it was deep, and the March winds cold, 
And the prairie was bleak, and bare was the wold, 
A dear little lamb — it was not a day old! 

Mamma was ill, and they thought she would die, 
And the little one moaned so pitifully, 
That when it looked up with its sad dark eye, 
I loved it and kissed it tenderly. 



146 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The delicate blossom of life just blown, — 
Its head was all hid with a fleece of brown, 
More beautiful far than a golden crown, 
And its tiny limbs shone in the softest down. 

What a frail thing it looked — I cannot forget — 
I owed it my love and acknowledged the debt ! — 
And the dear little lambkin ! — I cling to it yet ! 
My Lottie ! — my lammie ! — my baby ! — my pet ! 

There's a dear little girl standing now at my knee, 

And prattling "papa," and looking at me, 

And mamma is proud as a mamma can be, 

Of the dear little lamb-girl that God gave to me ! 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN, 



Note — The songs ensuing were translated at the request of Mr. Green, 
teacher of vocal music in St. Louis public schools. 

In a few instances the thought has been modified to make it conform to Amer- 
ican taste; in a few instances more to make it conform to the exigencies of rhyme 
and rhythm. 

The selections are Mr. Green's. The name of the author has been given 
wherever it occurred in the original as furnished me. Begun about July 10, and 
finished Aug 20, 1861. 



TO THE SETTING SUN. 

/~* OLDEN sun of evening, 
^^ Why so fair dost gleam ? 
Never without rapture 
Do I see thy beam. 

E'en in early childhood 
Glad I gazed on thee, 

And the love of virtue 
Warmer glowed in me. 

When I stood at even 

Gazing on thy face, 
And my soul refreshing 

God bestowed his grace. 

Still, O sun, my vision 
Turn I from thy blaze, 

And with higher rapture 
On myself I gaze. 



148 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN 

'Twas the same Creator 

Shaped for us our frame, 

Me my garments earthy, 

Thee thy robes of flame. 

A. B. Werner geb. Welti. 



DEPARTURE FROM HOME. 

T HAVE shed tears many, many, O sorrow, 

A That I am compelled to roam, 

Yet my loving father has it determined — 

We must wander from our home, 

Home, to-day are wandering we, 

Ah, forever from thee. 

Chorus : Then adieu ! So fare thee well, 
Then adieu, adieu, adieu, 
Then adieu, adieu, adieu, 
Then adieu ! So fare thee well. 

Fare ye well, my roses, sweet in the garden, 

And ye little flowerets, 
I may now no longer cherish and nurse you, 

We must part, must part, my pets. 

Dearest flowers, weep with me ! 

We divided must be. 

Fare ye well, ye green and blossoming meadows, 

Where I many nosegays bound, 
Fare ye well, ye bushes, bowers and forests, 

Where I cooling shadows found. 

Hill and valley, quiet lea, 

We divided must be. 



SPRING EVENING. 149 

Fare ye well. So call I mournful about me, 

From the mountain to the plain, 
Home, O home, I may more never behold thee, 

Ne'er behold thee, home, again. 

Gloom around me thick doth grow, 

Heart is heavy with woe ! 

H. von Fallersleben. 



SPRING EVENING. 
T I THAT can more delight, 
What more lovely sight 
Than a Spring time evening showeth ? — 
When with flowery scent 
Air is redolent, 

And the evening welkin gloweth — 
If the little birds are singing ; 
And the flies in swarms are winging ; 
And the bees come home, 
Sweetest honey comb 
In their golden baskets bringing. 

Then a walk we take, 
And the house forsake, 

On the yielding turf we seat us ; 
And the pleasant tale 
Of the Nightingale, 

And the herdsman's flutenotes greet us, 
And the Easter frog-song creaking, 
From the rush and sedge outbreaking ; — 
Merry is their mood, 
Thawed their frozen blood : 
After winter's sleep they're waking. 



150 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN 

Falls the night and then 
Each goes back again, 

Each reluctant homeward beareth, 
For the vaulted sky- 
Dearer to his eye 

Even than his home appeareth, 
Time's soft footstep we must listen, 
And the Queen of Night uprisen, 

To their duties call 

Stars, which great and small, 
In the heavens gleam and glisten. 

Joachim August Christian Barnack. 



THE ETERNAL ENDURANCE OF FRIENDSHIP. 

1VTOT merely for this world below 
Does friendship's cord entwine, 
But in the future we shall know 
Its value more divine. 

There, where is friendship's fount and source, 

Where nought our envy moves, 
The full heart its affection pours, 

And ever, ever loves. 

The friendship which we cherish here, 

With plighted heart and hand, 
God's angels give it honor there — 

There is its native land. 

There soul to soul is made akin, 

And loves without disguise, 
With purer love than mine and thine, 

Beyond the starry skies. 



EESIGNA TION. 1 5 1 



Lo, the last hour speeds on like thought, 

Its mystic knell I hear, 
It comes, it hastes, it tarries not, 

And shuddering follows near. 

Now when it on my sight appears, 

And thee divides from me, 
When thy sad eyes suffuse with tears, 

And mine shall scarce know thee. 

Then shall for thee my latest gaze, 

My latest breath entreat, 
While Hope with this our grief allays, 

That we again shall meet. 

How sacred this our duty makes, 

To live as angels may, 
That when the vision on us breaks, 

It may not cease for aye. 

Descend upon us, blessed hope, 

That we shall meet again, 
And when our friends are taken up, 

Wipe from our eyes the rain. 

Christoph George Ludwig Meister. 



RESIGNATION. 

A FTER snow, after snow, 

Hope's fair clover-blossoms grow, 
When the winter has departed 
Shine the flowers newly started, 
Up and up the lark doth go. 



152 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

As God will, as God will ; 

I am glad and hold me still, 

Do the clouds o'erdarken heaven, 
Then the showers shall be given, 

And with wealth the garner fills. 

Hush my heart, hush my heart ; 

Joy must interchange with smart, 
If despondence here seize on thee, 
Comfort thou canst bring upon thee, 

Let thy glance to heaven dart. 

Carl Lui>wtg Frankb. 



THE OLD FARMER TO HIS SON. 

'THY truth and honesty preserve 

Till cold beneath the sod ; 
And not a finger ever swerve 
To leave the ways of God. 

So, as along a verdant mead, 
Life's journey thou shalt pace, 

So fearless hear Death's solemn tread, 
And meet him face to face. 

So shall the sickle and the plow 
Ne'er burden hand of thine ; 

So shalt thou sing beside the spring, 
As if thou drankest wine. 

But to the vile, all, all is hard, 

For manage as he please, 
Vice goads him hither, thitherward, 

And never gives him ease. 




The Kine long Vagrant, 



TRAVELING SONG. 1 53 

The beauteous spring for him ne'er smiles, 

Nor harvest field nor wold ; 
He thinks of nought but lies and wiles, 

And wishes nought but gold. 

The leafy trees, the forest winds, 

A terror roar and rave ; 
And after life is spent he finds 

No rest within the grave. 

Then truth and honesty observe 

Till cold beneath the sod, 
And not a finger ever swerve, 

To leave the ways of God. 

And may thy children's children come, 

And bathe thy grave with tears ; 
And may those tears in flowers bloom 

Throughout the circling years. 

Ludwig Heinrich Christoph Hoelty. 



TRAVELING SONG. 

T)IRDS are singing, blossoms blooming, 
Wood and fields are green once more, 
O then let us go and wander 
Hither, thither, here and yonder, 
Go the broad and green earth o'er. 

As the bird sits in his prison, 

So erewhile sat we at home, 
Thawed our cage now, winter banished, 
Gone the cold, our grief evanished, 

And again abroad we roam. 



154 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Pleasure lives on every pathway, 

Round us, with us, over all. 
In the zephyr pleasure hummeth, 
In the fragrant blossom bloometh, 

Soundeth in the night-bird's call. 

Come, then, let us go and wander — 

Through the new-born sunshine stray : 
Through delighted fields and meadows, 
Through the dark green forest shadows, 
Through the new-born world, away ! 

H. von Fallersleben. 



ARCHER SONG. 

A 1 7ITH his bow and arrow, 

Over hill and lawn, 
Trips the merry archer, 
In the flashing dawn. 

As the eagle rideth, 

Monarch of the gale, 
So the archer walketh 

King of hill and dale. 

For his kingdom stretches ; 

All that walks or flies, 
Which his arrow reaches 

Is his lawful prize. 

Friedrich von Schiller. 



THE OLD DRAGOON TO HIS CLOAK. 1 55 



CONTENTMENT. 

/^v WHAT is gold, and what is wealth, 

^-^ To a contented breast ? 

The good God keeps my frame in health, 

And therewith I am blest, 
And with a grateful soul prolong 
My morning and my evening song. 

How many swim in their excess, 
With home, lands, wealth untold, 

But yet are full of wretchedness, 
Nor can enjoy their gold. 

They never sate their grumbling greed, 

The more they have the more they need. 

They call the world a vale of woe, 

And yet I think it fair : 
Here pleasure's streams forever flow, 

And all may have a share. 

E'en tiniest birds and insects spend 

A merry life-time to the end. 

M. Miller. 



THE OLD DRAGOON TO HIS CLOAK. 

"T^ULL thirty years of age art thou, 
A And many storms hast seen ; 
From me, brother like, hast ne'er sundered, 
And when the loud cannon have thundered, 
We two have afraid never been. 



156 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Together many happy nights 

We lay, drenched to the skin ; 
Old fellow, thou warmedst me ever ; 
And grief to my heart was there never 

But thou wast a sharer therein. 

Thou hast not tattled ever, but 

To me wast always true ; 
Upon every shred I depended, 
And so I would ne'er have thee mended, 

Else thou, my old friend, would be new. 

And when the final bullet comes 

Into the soldier's breast, 
Dear mantle, let one grave receive us, 
Together, old friend, let them leave us, 

In thee would I take my last rest. 

Carl von Holter. 



THE BOON COMPANION. 

I" HAD a boon companion, 

A better none could claim ; 
The battle-drum beat loudly, 
We marched together proudly, 
Our stride and step the same. 

A bullet came a flying, 

Is it for me or thee ? 
Him from my side it snatcheth, 
And at my feet he stretcheth, 

As if a part of me. 



THE SWITZER. 1 57 



To me his hand he lifteth : 

" Fire ! load ! " is the command : 

Alas! my comrade clever, 

Though thou lie there forever, 
I cannot give my hand. 

JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND. 



O STRA3BURG. 

OSTRASBURG, O Strasburg! that city wondrous 
fair, 
How many, many soldiers, are lying buried there ! 

So many, so comely, and so intrepid proved, 

But shamefully forsaken by parents whom they loved. 

Forsaken ! forsaken ! — else it could not be so ; 

To Strasburg, yes, to Strasburg, the soldiers have to go. 

My father, my mother, besought the captain thus, 

" O captain, dear, sir captain, give back our son to us ! " 

" No money can bribe me your son again to yield ; 
Your son will have to die in the wide and open field." 



THE SWITZER. 

A T Strasburg on the moat — 
■^^ My troubles there began. 
The Alpine horn I heard afar off call me ; 
My land, I'd swim to thee, whate'er befall me! — 
Could it be done. 



158 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

'Twas in the dead of night, 
They caught me, hapless wight ; 
They carried me before the captaincy. 
They said they fished me from the stream, 
Ah me, my destiny ! 

'Twas morning, ten o'clock — 
I stood before the regiment — 
And I must for forgiveness bow 
And learn what meed must from my folly flow, 
I know it now. 

My friends, the die is cast, 
To-day you see me for the last, 
The blame be by the herdsman's bugle horn, 
Such harm is done me by the Alpine horn, 
That I must mourn. 



SONG OF PRAISE. 

pRAISEye the Lord 

With joy, ye youthful chorus, 
Who by his word 
Hath spread the heavens o'er us, 
Praise ye the Lord ! Praise ye the Lord. 

We lift our song : 
O might it reach unto thee! 

Our feeble tongue 
Would sing the honor due thee — 
Thou, who didst deign to bless the young ! 



WATCHMAN'S CALL. 



1 59 



Full, full of praise, — 
Our souls break forth in singing 

Jehovah's grace : 
Up, up to the heaven winging 
From swelling hearts and earthly lays. 

We falter here : 
Our song of adoration 

Thou holdest dear ; 
And to our humble station, 
O Father, thou dost stoop thine ear. 

And comes the day, 
When in the realm supernal, 

O bliss ! we may 
Give praise to Thee, Eternal, 
For aye and aye ! For aye and aye ! 

George Gessner. 



WATCHMAN'S CALL. 

TTEARKEN, masters, to our singing, 

Ten o'clock the bell is ringing. 
Ten commands God handed down, 
May we heed them every one : 

Chorus : Human care can nothing serve us, 

God must watch, and God preserve us. 
Through thy goodness and thy might, 
Give us, Father, a good night. 



60 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN 

Hearken, masters, to our singing, 
Eleven o'clock, the bell is ringing, 
Eleven apostles were found true, 
Lord, may we be faithful too. 

Hearken, masters, to our singing, 
Twelve o'clock, the bell is ringing. 
Twelve! — the last hour comes to thee ! 
Man, think on eternity ! 

Hearken, masters, to my singing, 
One o'clock, the bell is ringing. 
One God is there, and but one, 
Trust in Him and Him alone. 

Hearken, masters, to my singing, 
Two o'clock, the bell is ringing. 
Two ways stretch before our sight, 
Lord, teach me to take the right. 

Hearken, masters, to my singing, 
Three o'clock, the bell is ringing. 
One in Three, and Three in One, 
Father, Holy Spirit, Son. 

Hearken, masters, to my singing, 
Four o'clock the bell is ringing. 
Fourfold duties are thy field, 
Man, how is thy spirit tilled ? 

Up ! arouse ye to your senses ! 
Fades the night ! the day commences ! 
Thanks to God, who through the night, 
Guards us till the morning light. 



GOD SUPREME. l6l 



THE REAPER DEATH. 

H^HERE is a reaper titled Death, 

With power from God he harvesteth ; 
He sharpens his blade now, 
Much keener it's made now, 
Soon will he be reaping, 
And we shall be weeping. 

What standeth fresh and green to-day, 
To-morrow will become his prey, — 

All that the field's bliss is, 

The noble narcissus, 

And hyacinths fairest, 

And Turkish wreath's rarest. 

And untold myriads shall all 
Beneath his ruthless sickle fall. 

Ye lilies and roses, 

Your lovely life closes ; 

And coronals royal, 

Death, death will destroy all ! 
Chorus: Guard thee well the blossoms fair. 

Old Folks' Song, from the year 1700. 



GOD SUPREME. 

T/'NOWEST thou all the stars that hover 

In the azure vault above ? 
Knowest thou all the clouds that over 
All the earth's broad surface move ? 
God, the Lord, their number telleth, 
And with him none ever faileth — 
Not one faileth of them all. 



1 62 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Knowest thou every mote that dances 

In the flashing noontide ray? 
Every little fish that glances 

Where the cool clear waters play ? 
God, the Lord, hath known and named them — 
God, the Lord — his power framed them, — 
Woke them into happy life. 

Knowest thou every child that, waking, 

Rises from its bed to play ? 
Without care and trouble, making 

One delight the livelong day. 
God, in all, whate'er he willeth, 
In his love and power fulfilleth — 

Knows thee, too, and loves thee, too. 

Wilhelm Hey. 



THE AMBROS1AN SONG OF PRAISE. 

(~* OD, Almighty, be thou praised : 
^^ Lord we laud thee, and adore thee ; 
Earth is at thy works amazed, 

And in worship kneels before thee ; 
As thou wast all time before, 
So remain thou evermore. 

From the whole earth's circle round, 
From the lofty and the lowly, 

Father, doth thy praise resound : 
From the congregation holy, 

Praise ascendeth to the throne, 

Of thy loved and holy Son. 



CHRISTMAS. 163 



Lord, be gracious, gracious be ! 

On us, Lord, bestow thy favor ! 
Lead and guard us fatherly ! 

Near our pathway stand forever ! 
Lord, we hope alone in thee ; 
Let us not forsaken be ! 



CHRISTMAS. 

T^HE Christmas Tree with tapers burneth, 
How mild and soft, yet bright its sheen ; 
It says — "In me the wise discerneth 
The type of Hope forever green." 

The children stand with faces glowing, 
With laughing hearts and laughing eyes ; 

Their elders, with delight o'erflowing, 
Lift look and thought to Paradise. 

Two angel forms about them hover, 

No eye beheld them enter in ; 
The Christmas board their hands stretch over, 

They bless, and turn, but are unseen. 

" God's blessing be upon the olden, 
The little ones the blessing share. 

A blessing on the brown and golden 
And on the gray and snowy hair. 

"The Lord sends us his angels holy, 
As messengers to righteous men ; 

And if ye still shall serve him truly, 
This threshold we shall cross again. ,> 



1 64 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Their words were lost to hearing mortal, 
And human eyes to them were blind, 

E'en as they came they pass the portal, 
But peace from God they left behind. 



TO THE BIBLE. 

T^HOU precious holy, blessed word, 

God's gift on every child conferred, 
May we be wise and pure thereby, 
True children of the Lord Most High. 

Light from the loving God sent forth, 
Into the gloomy land of earth : 
Thou heavenly light, from heaven shine, 
Until we wear the glow divine. 

G. M. Arndt. 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH BELL. 

T3ELL, thou soundest gaily, 
When to church proceedeth 
Forth the wedding band ; 
Bell, thou soundest holy, 

When on Sabbath morning 
Vacant lies the land. 

Bell, thou soundest softly, 
In the evening calling — 

" 'Tis the hour of sleep;" 
Bell, thou soundest sadly, 
At the bitter parting 
Calling us to weep. 




"The Village Church." 



THE FIELD MARSHAL. 1 65 

Speak, how canst thou sorrow ? 
How canst thou be happy ? — 
Metal without soul. 
Still our grief and sadness, 
Still our joy and pleasure, 

Thou dost know the whole. 

Bell, a wondrous power, 

That we understand not, 
Has been given thee ; 
Is the storm-swept spirit 

Sinking, thou dost cheer it 
With thy melody. 

Aloys Wilhelm Schreiber. 



THE FIELD MARSHAL. 

TTARK, hark the trumpets blowing, Hussars hasten 

n out! 

Now rideth the field marshal on his flying route ! 

He rideth so gaily his charger so brave, 

He swingeth so swiftly his glittering glaive ! 

Hurrah, and the Prussians are there, ha ! ha ! ha ! 

The Prussians are merry and shouting hurrah. 

O look, how clear his eyes ! how they gleam and they 

glow ! 
O look, how waves his hair ! white as new fallen snow ! 
As fresh blooms his age as the wine in its foam, 
In the midst of the slaughter he still is at home. 
Hurrah, and the Prussians are there, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
The Prussians are merry, and shouting hurrah. 

Ernst Moritz Arxdt. 



1 66 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 



THE GOOD RICH MAN. 

T 17 HERE ran a roaring river near, 

There sat a needy lass, 
From her blue eyes flowed many a tear 
And fell upon the grass. 

She twined the blossoms to a knot, 
And tossed them on the flood ; 

" Come back, my father," she cried out, 
" Come back, my brother good." 

A wealthy lord was passing by, 
And heard her wild request ; 

He saw the moisture in her eye, 
And pity touched his breast. 

" Why weepest thou without restraint ? 

What troubles thee, dear maid ? 
Tell me the reason of thy tears, 

And if I can I'll aid." 

"Ah, sir," she said, while through a tear 

Her blue eye on him shone, 
" Thou seest a poor maiden here 

Whom God can help alone. 

" For lo, yon mound that grasses crown, - 

That is my mother's grave, 
And here, a few days since, went down 

My father 'neath the wave. 



GOD'S ACRE. 167 



" The wild stream snatched him from our view, 

My brother, with a bound, 
Leaped after, and, alas, him too 

The sateless river drowned. 

" Now I am in the orphan house, 

And ever as I may, 
Out to the river side I come, 
m And weep my woes away." 

" Dear child, thou shalt no longer weep, 

I will thy father be. 
Deserving is thy heart, and deep 

Thy filial piety." 

He took her home — that good rich man, 

All that he said was done, 
He took her mourning garments off, 

And put the fairest on. 

She at his table sat and drank, 

And ate the daintiest food, 
Thee for thy noble deed we thank, 

Thou wealthy one and good. 

Caspar Friedrich Loffins. 



GOD'S ACRE. 

TTOW gently rest they 

All they who happy be, 
Unto whose dwelling 
Now doth my spirit glide. 



1 68 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 



How gently rest they 

In the graveyard, 
Deep to corruption 

Have they descended. 

And no more mourn they 

Here where all sighing ends : 
And no more feel they 

Here where all pleasure flies 
And with the cypress 

Softly shading 
Sleep till the angel 

His trumpet soundeth. 



A. C. Stockman. 



THE SAVIOUR. 

TF I have him only, 
Is he only mine, 
If my heart e'en to the grave, 

In faithfulness shall ne'er decline : 
Know I nought of sadness, 
Feel I nought but gladness, 
Nought but love and gladness. 

If I love him only, 
Freely all I. leave ; 
With my pilgrim's staff I follow, 
To my Lord alone I cleave. 
Others are unloving, 
In the broad ways roving, 
In the vile ways roving, 



EVENING SONG. 1 69 

If I love him only, 
Sleep I joyfully ; 
Ever will the sweetest sound 
To me the name of Jesus be. 
Praise thy name forever ! 
Glory to the Saviour ! 
Amen ! glory ever ! 

NOVALIS. 



SPRING. 

r\ ZEPHYR sweet and low, 
^^ Again thou art coming, 
Thy spring-song humming. 
Soon, soon, soon, 

Soon will the violets blow. 



EVENING SONG. 

^HROUGH ether pure the evening 

Climbs to the star paved skies ; 
And hushed to holy silence, 

In slumber nature lies. 
The setting sun's last glances veil 
In regal purple hill and dale. 

And now the moonlight glances 

With purest silver sheen 
On yon high pine, o'ermounting 

The shade of thickets green. 
The sky's blue zone with stars impearled, 
Is shimmering on our lowly world. 



170 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

In the unmeasured distance 
Our farthest sight beyond, 

Beyond the starry heavens, 
God's majesty is throned. 

Look up in humble faith to him, 

Before whom bow the seraphim. 



MAY. 



H 



OW royal is the May time ! 
Then laugheth vale and height 
The May time is a free time 
So bright, so bright, so bright ! 



The loving sun smiles on us 

From many a silver cloud ; 
The tender cuckoo calleth, 

So loud, so loud, so loud ! 

The finch and lark are singing ! 

Rejoices lake and sky ! 
Good bye, Good bye ! Sir Winter ! 

Good bye, good bye, good bye ! 

Staub. 



THE MORNING. 

T^HE morning breaks in ! the morning breaks in ! 
A Prolong, ye companions, your frolicsome song, 
Through fields and through forests, and mountains 

along, 
The birds greet the sun, and the birds greet you each, 
Those bright little people so happy and rich. 



MEMORY. 



171 



The woodland is fair ! the woodland is fair ! 
The balsamy fragrance — we drink it in there ! 
How strong grow our limbs in the pure bracing air ! 
The town we'll forget, and we'll hitherward bring, 
But heaven and spring and the feelings of spring. 

How happy are we ! how happy are we ! 

Morn skips o'er the graveyard with fleet-gliding feet, 

And climbs up the oak trees the welkin to greet, 

For her is no summit too steep or too high, 

She calls to the eagle, " all hail," in the sky. 

MEMORY. 

V^E mountains, farewell, farewell ! 

Ye whispering bushes, 

Ye cooling wind gushes, 

Ye clear flowing springs ! 
My thought shall linger near you, 
And distance shall endear you, 

Ye mountains, farewell ! 

Ye mountains, farewell ! 
Farewell ! 

Ye herdsmen, farewell, farewell ! 

Your echoing singing, 

When shall I hear ringing, 

Upon the green Alp ? 
With sorrow and with yearning, 
Brave hearts, my soul is burning, 

Ye herdsmen, farewell ! 

Ye herdsmen, farewell ! 
Farewell ! 



172 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Heights Alpine, farewell, farewell ! 

What sweet odor there is ! 

How cooling the air is 

That blows round me there ! 
From all my steps I sever ; 
They vanish now forever ! 

Heights Alpine, farewell ! 

Heights Alpine, farewell ! 
Farewell ! 



THE NIGHTINGALE'S REPLY. 

"\TIGHTINGALE, nightingale, how singest more 
sweet — 

Singest more sweet than all the feathered throng ? 
Nightingale, nightingale, why lingers thy lay, 

Lingers thy lay on every heart so long ? 
When thou singest, calleth all the world, 

" Spring is now the woods among." 

Nightingale, nightingale, why — why art thou still — 
Why art thou still ? Thy song was all too brief. 

Wherefore wilt, wherefore wilt, not sing to us more — 
Sing to us more ? Thy silence waketh grief. 

When thou sangest, then my heart was full — 
Full of joy, beyond belief. 

When the May, when the May, the beautiful May, 
Beautiful May — May and his flowers fly, 

Then it is, then it is, strange — strange round my heart, 
Strange round my heart ; — and yet I know not why, 

If I wished to sing, I could not then 
Attune a single melody. 

H. Hoffman von Fallersleben. 



THE SONG OF THE FREE. 1 73 

THE LILIES IN THE FIELD. 

CEE the lilies in the field, 

^ How they grow and flourish ; 

Who, without their toil and care 

Guards them by his power ? 
Who created them so fair ? 
Decked them with such splendor ? — rare, 

Princely, without equal ! 

God, the Lord, He called ye forth, 

Earth to clothe in beauty ; 
Human hearts weighed down with care, 

Lift ye up to duty. 
Lift them from their sordid dust, 
Teach them aye in God to trust, 

And to bloom for Heaven. 

Up, my heart, be undismayed, 

Throw on Him' thy sorrow, 
After winter's night is past, 

Spring wakes with the morrow. 
Who doth not the flowers forget, 
He is my good Father yet ! 

O, my spirit, praise Him ! 

WlLHELM GREEF. 



THE SONG OF THE FREE. 

T3R0THERS, in a ring recline we ; 

Like our sires, our voices join we ; 
With our might and from our spirit, 
Sing a free, a joyous song. 



174 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Honor Freedom, Sister, longer 
We shall live and feel the stronger, 
Honor is the spouse of Courage — 
Courage undismayed and bold. 

Let the world awake and wonder — 
God shall speak, and in the thunder, 
For the brave man who is striving 
For the right and liberty. 



THE EVENING. 

CEE how the sun is already 
^ Sinking the mountains below, 
See how the quiet invites us 
Joyfully homeward to go. 

Chorus : Hearken, the bell rings, 
It soundeth so clear, 
Soundeth, O soundeth its tone, 
Quiet, to thee, alone ! 

Hark to the bell as it ringeth ! 

Mark how the cool breezes blow ! 
Hasten, good people, O hasten, 

Joyfully homeward to go. 



O SWITZERLAND, HOW ART SO FAIR! 

TTOW radiant glow the huge fir-trees there, 

In the sunlight's golden sheen ! 
How friendly the smile of the azure sea, 
Adown in the valley serene ! 



HUNTER SONG. 1 75 



Clear chimeth to the herdsman's song, 
The herd-bell tinkling there ; 
And all — all call, "O Switzerland — 
O why, why art thou so fair ! " 

O tumbles so daring the waterfall 
Through the rifted granite gray ; 

Then over the crags how with hiss and foam 
It roams through the air far away ! 
Yet lovely flows the lucid brook 
From the soft mountain there, 
And murmurs low, "O Switzerland — . 
O why, why art thou so fair ! " 

Yes, noble and dear is the Switzer land : 
On its heights doth Freedom reign : 

And plainness and purity aye and aye, 
In every cottage remain. 
So ring out clear from every height, 
My joyous song and rare, 
And echo call : " O Switzerland — 
O why, why art thou so fair ! " 



HUNTER SONG. 

T TP, hunters, up ! Awake ! awake ! 
^ The morning stars grow dimmer ; 
The sky grows blue and day beams break, 
And through yon oak trees glimmer. 

The midnight gray has fled apace ; 

And hark, the lark awakes his lays, 

Up, hunter, to the chase ! 

Up, hunter, to the chase ! 



176 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Up, hunters, up ! The garden through 

The hare, swift -footed, races ; 
Upon the grass, fresh wet with dew, 
Show easily his traces. 

Diana smiles with winsome grace, 
Upon the hills, and for us stays, 
Up, hunter, to the chase ! 
Up, hunter, to the chase ! 

Up, hunter, up ! Through corn and thorn 

The pack already rushes ; 
Proclaim upon thy winding horn — 
"The wakened Morning blushes." 

And e'er the pack complete its race, 
In green garb greet it ! To thy place ! 
Up, hunter, to the chase ! 
Up, hunter, to the chase ! 



FAREWELL, THOU LOVELY WOOD. 

A ND so we part, with shout and song ; 
^^ Farewell, thou lovely wood, 
With thy refreshing shadows, 
And with thy verdant meadows, 
And pleasant solitude. 

We sing upon our homeward course 

A song of thanks to-day : 
Again do thou invite us, — 
With woody scents delight us, 

And songs to lovely May. 



AT THE BURIAL OF A SCHOLAR. I J J 

Lo, where at eve the forest rests ; 

He lists attentively ; 
His topmost twigs he bendeth : 
His leafy hands extendeth, 

And calls to us, " Good-by." 

Hoffman von Fallersleben. 



AT THE BURIAL OF A SCHOLAR. 

O LEEP thou well ; and in thy peace securely 
^ In the churchyard's narrow chamber rest ; 
Here below thou livedst well and purely, 
Pure in heart thou Heaven enterest. 

Sleep thou well, the years God doth not number: 
Whom He will to Heaven He takes away : 

On the bier to-morrow pale doth slumber 
He who shone in his full bloom to-day. 

Sleep thou well. God's solace on thee falleth : 
Light and day succeed the grave's deep night ; 

But its own — its own the Heaven calleth ; 
O, our Father ! all thou dost is right ! 

Sleep thou well ! In wreath-decked earth imbedded ! 

Sleep thou well within thy flowery tomb ! 
Be our end as soothing and undreaded, 

Whensoe'er the Angel Death may come ! 

Staub. 



178 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 



R 



AT A FUNERAL. 

EST they how sweetly, 
All — all who blessed be : 
Heroes who fought in this life's great battle-field ! 
Rest they how sweetly, 
In the graveyard, 
Till they unto their reward shall waken. 

Thou Mediator, 

Wast in the grave confined, 
Having atoned for us fully on the cross ; 

Not for corruption 

Holy Saviour. 
Unto a large recompense thou risest. 

If we rest also 

Like all who blessed be, 
Having o'ercome in life's mighty battle-field, 

Then, O Deliverer ! 

Wilt thou call us 
Out of our graves to reward eternal. 



THE RESURRECTION. 

"O ISE again, yes, thou wilt rise, I trust, 
-*-^ From brief repose my dust, 

In world's supernal, 

Thou shalt have life eternal ! 

O praise the Lord ! Hallelujah ! 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 179 



Yes, I shall be sown, again to bloom 
More fair beyond the tomb. 
The Lord shall reap us, 
Take us, ensheaf, and keep us, 

praise the Lord ! Hallelujah ! 

Day of thanks — the day of joyous tears 
The day of God appears ! 
When I have slumbered 
The days that God hath numbered, 

1 shall awake ! Hallelujah ! 



CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

TTUSH, hush, hush ! Be wakeful with delight ! 
Our infant Lord 
Comes hitherward ! 
It is night, the holy night ! 

Hark, hark, hark ! There's knocking at the door ! 
It soundeth clear ! 
Haste, Saviour, dear ! 
Come in ! — our long, long watch is o'er ! 

Yes, yes, yes ! We gladly thee receive ! 
What bring'st to-night 
For our delight ? 
The pretty little gifts ! — O give ! 

Hi, hi, hi ! How nice ! how well they suit ! 
How small and sweet ! 
How new and neat 
A garden, pictures, nuts and fruit ! 



180 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Ah, ah, ah ! How glanced and glittered that ! 
How clear and bright 
The golden light ! 
But now for fun and play and chat ! 

Thanks, thanks, thanks ! Dear holy Child to thee, 
We all will strive, 
Like thee to live, 
Obedient, true and good to be ! 



THE CUP. 

/^vNCE to a little stream, 
^-^ Having no cup I came ; 
My hand to bowl shape bent, 
Proved cup most excellent ! 

Thirsty, I sometimes wish 
I were a little fish — 
Were a wee minnow set 
Free in the rivulet ! 

Wee minnow if he be 
Thirsty, may presently, 
Mouth open, drink, and then 
He is all well again ! 

Did I a goblet own, 

Bright as a precious stone, 

But empty, I would think 

Worth more were one good drink ! 



TO THE MOON. Iol 



Would I with hollow hand, 
Could by a brooklet stand ; 
Moisten my brow and lip, 
Scoop, drink, and dip and sip ! 



TO THE MOON. 
/^ENTLE moon that mov'st so stilly 
^-* Through the evening cloudlets on, 
Thou art sent on yonder pathway 

By the wise and holy One. 
Friendly beacon, on the weary 

In his quiet chamber rest ; 
Let thy sheen give consolation 

Unto every heart oppressed. 

Gentle moon, that wanderest lightly 

Through the blue vault of the heaven, 
Where thy God, for his own glory, 

Placed thee as the light of even ; 
Faithfully look down upon us 

On the earth the long night through : 
Loving guard of helpless mortals 

Bring our Master's love in view. 

Gentle moon, so soft and mildly 

Shining in the starry sea, 
In the fields of light thou floatest 

Loftily and joyfully. 
Man's consoler ! Heaven's angel ! 

Peaceful cloudlets are thy throne ! 
Rosy morning's bright evangel ! 

Gentle moon ! still bear us on ! 



1 82 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN 



IN A THUNDERSTORM. 

f~* OD is with me ! God is with me ! 
^^ He is with all his human children ever ! 
And from their heads a hair can perish never 
That he knows not — that he knows not ! 
What though it thunder — though it lighten? — 
He is my guard — naught shall affrighten ! 
God is with me ! God is with me ! 

I do not fear ! I do not fear ! 

Though crash the thunder in its wild rage shrieking! 
I know therein my Heavenly Father's speaking! — 
Earth's King and Lord ! earth's King and Lord ! 
If lightning flashes downward rending, 
God's messenger's are earthward wending, 
I do not fear ! I do not fear ! 

I trust in God ! I trust in God ! 

E'en in the storm his mighty power unfoldeth — 

His kingly strength which all the world upholdeth ! 

O pray to Him ! O pray to Him ! 

E'en when the fearful tempest beateth, 

His love to our assistance fleeteth ! 

I trust in God ! I trust in God ! 



THE STORK'S ADVENT. 

C EE ! see ! see ! The stork is o'er his old tree 
^^ What is he doing o'er it ? 
He seeks to find his last year's nest, 
And seats him for his summer's rest, 
Good stork — we'll praise him for it. 



THE STARS. 1 83 



Hi ! hi ! hi ! His mate is flying by, 

Dame Storkie, thou must speed thee ! 
Thy spouse will seem too long alone ! 
The house is far too large for one ! 
To share it he doth need thee ! 

Hark ! hark ! hark ! How clatters now the stork ! 

That is his way of singing ! 
Now both are warm and safe at rest, 
Though still too large for them the nest ! 

Soon will their young be winging ! 



WHOM I LOVE. 
1X7HOM I love thou askest me? 

Father, and mother, sister and brother. 
All I love that human be. 
Their love, I'd pay it o'er and o'er, 
So I love them, so I love them, 
Ever more and more ! 

Whom I love, thou askest me ? 

I cannot see Him, yet understand Him, 
God in Heaven — it is He ! 

He loves me too, and I'll adore, 
And I'll love him, and I'll love him, 

Ever more and more. 



THE STARS. 



TN the dusky distance of the heaven, — 
Lovely twinkle golden stars at even, 

Friendly there the God-given beacons glimmer ; 
Thus do angel's faces glow and shimmer, 



1 84 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

God, who from our sight thyself concealest, 
From the sky thy wonders thou revealest. 

God, my trust, whose power doth amaze me, 
From the dust thy power shall upraise me. 

In the Heavens can my soul observe thee ; 
On the earth O grant that I may serve thee. 



BEE SONG. 

T 1 7 HAT fragrance ! and how fresh and sweet ! 
^ * Exhales the blossoms from ! 

They seem prepared their guests to greet, 
We shall a handsome welcome meet, 

Nor are we dull nor dumb ! 
So come we with our hum, hum, hum ; 

So come we with our hum ! 

The flower dust so fine and clear, 

Is ours, — so we come 
And fill our little baskets here, 
And with our yellow buskins steer 

Straight back again for home. 
So with our happy hum, hum, hum ; 

So with our happy hum ! 

What pleasant work is it at home 

In our well ordered dome ! 
We make the wax and honeycomb — 
And sing our olden rhyme — and roam 

In freedom to and from ! 
So with our joyant hum, hum, hum ; 

So with our joyant hum ! 



ELIJAH. 



T^LOWERS that died in the buried years, 

Awaked from their graves in the bitumen, 
Upon the nickering chandeliers, 

Bud and blossom in flame again ! 
Would that the alchemy of my line 

Might waken the deeds and thoughts of men 
From the dead past, to bloom and shine 
Upon the earth again. 

Prelude. 
Secession's curse had fallen on 
The states which God created one, 
And still unfaithful to its trust, 
And still pursuant of its lust, 
And still the blinded sport of hell, 

Besotted Israel, 
With the same madness which had rent 
The bonds of union, onward went 
To deeper crime and punishment. 

"Three years shall pass, and but by me, 
As the Lord liveth, there shall be 
Nor dew nor rain." The prophet spoke : 
With wrath and fear King Ahab shook, 
And from the Tishbite's presence strode, 
Sullen beneath the curse of God. 



1 86 ELIJAH. 

Thrice had the circling seasons passed, 
Winters that brought the northern blast, 
But brought no sleet — no driving hail, 
No manna of snow upon the gale ! — 
Summers whose floods of flame poured forth, 
Relentless on the unscreened earth ! 
The brooks, unfed, soon ceased to run ; 

Withered the herbage in the sun ; 
The starving kine, with panting tongue, 

Went moaning, moaning, up and down, 
The shade of the seared trees among, 

And over fields all parched and brown, 
With gait unsteady, staggering, reeling, 
Helpless and speechless, but appealing 
For succor by their mute despair ; 

'Till faint with utter thirst and crazed, 

With their wild eyes all fixed and glazed, 
They fell and died ! Then on the air, 
Grown poisonous in the ceaseless glare 
Of the fierce sun that never paled, 
Foul as the stench of hell, exhaled, 
Fell mother of all foul disease, 
The fetor of their carcases ! 

And not the herds alone, but they, 

Created lords of all that God 
Had else created, were the prey 

Of multitudinous death that strode 

Over the wailing land, and sowed 
Grim corpses wheresoe'er they trod ! 

And deeper misery followed then 
As unchained tigers from their den, 



ELIJAH. 187 



As furies from the realm accursed, 
The vilest passions of vile men 

Upon their shrieking victims burst, 
And flooded the polluted land 

With untold anguish, such as never 
Might be again, — though earth should stand 

Forever and forever ! 

Book I. 

For judgment at Samaria's gate, 

In royal robes King Ahab sat, 

Before him lay the fields all dry 

As the hot sands of Araby ; 

Above him scowled the brazen sky ; 

Around were famished, sickly crowds, 
That heedless, one another thrust 

Among the whirling, billowy clouds 
Of suffocating dust. 

Nor flattering courtiers gathered round, 

Nor menials bending to the ground, 

Nor gorgeous throne, nor jeweled crown, 

The sadness of the king could drown ! 

Could he for tinsel gauds forget 

The prophet's curse hung o'er him yet ? 

No ! — came to him the happy time 

Ere yet his life was tinged with crime ! 

Ere yet the sorceress of the north, 

Had lured him with her cunning wiles, 
And with the witchery of the smiles 
That on her lip or in her glance, 
In coy or wanton dalliance, 

Or lingered now or now shot forth 



ELIJAH. 

Like the gay humming-birds that hover 
Enamored the blossoms of summer over ! — 
The swan-like beauty of her form ; 
The mad out-gushing of her warm — 
Her burning passion ; — and the grace 
That marked her of Phenissa's race ! — 
Of all he thought : and of the hour 
When yielding to her conscious power 
He left Jehovah's shrine and fell 

Before Sidonian Bel ! 
And in that falling made the state 
The hapless partner of his fate ! 

Vicegerent of Heaven's Majesty ! — 

O Conscience ! Thou canst sleep till we 

May deem thy power obliterate ; 

But thou dost rouse at last, though late — 

Nor wealth, nor arms, nor iron will 

Then can thine utterances still ! 

And there sat she ! — throned at his side, 
Jeweled and pale with queenly pride — 
Pride which nor God nor man could quell - 
Unmoved by ruin or by death, 
Like her own goddess Ashtoreth — 

Imperial Jezebel ! 
Gleamed like a star her fierce eye now, 
Or like the diamond on her brow : 
For in his face with pain inwrought, 

In absent eye and bosom swelling, 
Right well she read whereon the thought 

Of her sad spouse was dwelling ; 



ELIJAH. 189 



Half with resentment, half with shame. 
Her secret heart was all aflame, 
Quick to her cheek the hot blood came ! 
The flame burst forth in angry glance, 
And in these words found utterance : 

" My curse upon the prophet ! — would 

That he might die as do the brood 

Of the unfed and famished poor 

On barren hill and dusty moor ! 

Were I a man for one brief hour, 

The sniveling hound should feel my power ! 
The head of the accursed — thing, — 
What is there that it might not win ? — 

No sweeter offering could he bring 

Who best would please his sovereign ! " 

To this the king : " Were it not well 
With utmost caution to demean 

Our royal selves, sweet Jezebel ? 
Put on again thy brow serene." 

Then thus the incensed queen : " Am I, 

A Tyrian princess, taught to school 
My tongue, and stoop my royalty ? 

Know that with you in equal rule 
I share this sovereignty ; nor shall 
You, nor your maudlin Hebrews all — 
No ! — not the traitor whom you place 

Above my house to watch the peers 
And holy priesthood of my race — 

Let the truth twinge your royal ears ! — 



190 ELIJAH. 



Not Obadiah — though he were 
All the perfection of a saint, 
Which you in your rapt fancy paint, 
Shall lead Queen Jezebel to forget 
Aught that of right belongs to her ! — 

She is, and will be sovereign yet, 
Though all the hirelings who stand 
To lick King Ahab's royal hand, 

His minion's treachery should abet ! 
The varlet ! He shall die the death ! 
Through him the sacred fire is dim 
Upon the shrine of Ashtoreth : 
And mute the horn and hushed the shell, 
Among the groves of mighty Bel ! 
The angry gods for this withhold 
The genial rains from field and wold ! 
Come, Tyrian maidens, let us hence : 
Astarte claims our reverence ! 
Go forward, priests ! my maidens, you 
And I will join the retinue : 
Then come my royal guards, and then 
My people all may join the train : 
Who knows but we may thus appease 
The outraged gods and goddesses ? " 

She said, and rising from her throne, 
The steps of ivory swept down, 
And to the temple led the way, 
And priests and maidens haste to obey. 

With trump and cymbal, shout and song, 
The haughty queen is borne along, 
By the obsequious throng. 



ELIJAH. 191 



Book II. 

Poor monarch ! on whose hapless head 
The penalty was visited 
Which ever must await the weak, 
Who, only great in station, wear 
Honors too high for them to bear ! — 
Who dare not boldly turn and seek 
A certain danger, but with eyes 
Blinded by their perplexities, 
Or heedless grow, or desperate, 
And yield them passive to their fate. 

O hapless is the state wherein 
The ruler's self irresolute, 
Is in its exigency mute, 
Nor dares condemn the traitor's sin, 
Nor dares sustain the wholesome law, 
Nor dares the rebel overawe, 
Nor boldly dares their cause avow, 
But, helpless driveler, lets them seize 
All practical advantages 
Which could accrue to them if he 
Were sharer in their treachery, 
And by his imbecility, 
Tells what to do, and shows them how. 
Oh, it were well, if then there were 
Ever some faithful minister, 
On whom the trust could safely fall, 
In failure of the principal : 
Such minister King Ahab had, 
A man whom he well knew to be, 
Fit for responsibility, 
And him into the presence now he bade ! 



I92 ELIJAH. 



The fretted king his palace sought 

Through the carved gates of cedar wood, 
From the far heights of Lebanon hewed, 

With golden fantasies o'erwrought ; 

Through archways built of polished stone 

That mirrored all that looked thereon ; 

Then trod the tessellated floor 

Of columned court and corridor. 

In the dead court no fountain played ; 

The leafy crowns, the robes of shade, 

Graced the old terebinths no more ; 

The sapless palms no fruitage bore ; 

The vines lay dead, unmoaned, unwept, 

And snaky sunbeams o'er them crept ! 

Too precious far to waste on them, 
The treasures of the springs that still, 

From the cool rocks dropped gem by gem, 
Their sparkling wealth to pool or rill ! 

The portals of an inner room 

Opened as he approached, for well 
The warder's practised ear could tell 

That step, and knew his lord had come. 

" Benoni, call my steward hither : " 
The page addressed, with salaam bow 
Flits from the presence soft as snow 
Wind-borne, and soon returning thither, 
Proclaimed in fit and courtly phrase, 
" Thy servant and my lord obeys, 
And humbly at the door doth wait 
Thy will, most august potentate." 



ELIJAH. T93 

Then, at a sign, the golden door 
Gave way, and then as aye before, 
As aye before and evermore, 
There as elsewhere the broad earth o'er, 
The mean man, in his swollen state, 
Received the homage of the great. 

The servants marked the royal hand, 
And vanished without more command. 

A friendly greeting passed, with naught 

Of or reserve or deference ; 
For one, too honest for pretence, 
And one too anxious to give thought 

To artificial difference, 
Had met as men — as men who feel 
The burden of the commonweal. 

Reclined they on the rich divan, 
And thus the king began : 

" Hast found Elijah yet ? He seems 
To flee our grasp as though he were 
Not substance, but a thing of air — 
A phantom, such as mock our dreams." 

Then Obadiah : " O my lord, 

Most faithfully have I obeyed 
Thy mandate : wheresoe'er I heard 

His secret home the prophet made, 

In cliff or cave, in glen or glade, 
There have I searched, but searched in vain : 
For as the mirage of the plain, 



T94- ELIJAH. 

The seeming goodly oasis, 
That fills the traveler's soul with bliss — 
Great palms by healthful breezes fanned, 
And runnels trickling o'er the sand, 
And browsing beast and feasting man, 
That marks the resting caravan, — 
But all — all false ; a thing of lies, 
That still as he approaches, flies, — 
Even thus from me hath fled the seer 
Ever most distant when he seemed most near.' 

Exclaimed the king — " O God ! when shall 
Death, satiate, cease his carnival ? 
Could I secure the seer, 'twere hard 
Should not the skies be soon unbarred! 
O be he angel ! be he man ! 
Or be he fiend in human guise 
No sight more welcome to mine eyes, 
Has ever greeted them or can." 

The master's words but little heeded 
The man, and thus proceeded : 
" Thou dost remember how when bidden 
Of God, by Cherith he was hidden, 
And fed of ravens, heaven-taught 
To bear to him his daily meed 
At eve and morn of flesh and bread. 
We sought for him and vainly sought : 
When to Sarepta fled the seer, 
The bootless chase we followed there — 
And often felt but never saw, 
A presence that filled all with awe — 



ELIJAH. I95 



We felt that presence as we feel 
The presence of the clouded sun : 
We heard how she, the widowed one, 
Sparing for him her oil and meal, 
Thereby diminished not her store, 
But found it ample evermore ! — 
How from the dark world of the dead, 
Her son came when the Tishbite prayed ! 
O King ! such prophet hath not been 
In Israel, nor wrought therein 
Such deeds, since when on Horeb trod 

Moses, the man of God ! 
Nor mayst thou hope to find him till 
Thou find him by consent of Him 
Who speaketh from the cherubim, 
And ruleth all things by his will ! — 
Nor mayst thou hope for that consent, 
O King ! — till thou repent !" 

At these bold words a moment flashed 
King Ahab's eye with rage, and dashed 
Was his quick cheek with passion, then 
His cooler sense resumed its rein 
And all was calm and fair again. 

Yet not all calm — as some wild blast 
Goes rushing like a maniac past, 
One breath, at once its first and last, 

Out-breathing and then dying : 
Then quick thoughts follow, and the sighing 
Irregular of the wind's chafed breast ; 
So, with sad thoughts his soul oppressed — 



196 ELIJAH. 



And well I know this drouth is meant 
For discipline not punishment — 
For states established upon crime, 
May seem to prosper for a time, 
But soon or late destruction sweeps, 

Or from its rest the lance of God 
Upon the land like lightning leaps — 

And into dust erelong is trod 
The memory of the state that dare 

To curse Jehovah's righteous power 

By trampling human freedom down — 

Such frequent throbbing followed, when 
The passing passion swept his heart 

And spake King Ahab then : 
" O my good friend, for friend thou art, 
And in a time like this, when fall 
Without distinction, upon all, 
Our common sorrows, teaching us, 
How foolish and how frivolous, 
The empty gauds that we permit 

To blind us to our common dust, 
To sever souls that else were knit, 

In kindred love and mutual trust, 
It is not stooping, when I own 
The thorns that lurk beneath the crown, 
The griefs that weigh my spirit down ! 
I have done wrong ! — by fault of mine 

Jehovah's altars are forsaken, 

And the mad populace awaken 
Their obscene orgies at the shrine 
Of Bel and Ashtoreth, and dye 
Their souls in dark idolatry ! 



ELIJAH. 197 



They sin and die — they rot and burn 

With plague — they perish and through me : 
Yet does not tenderest mother yearn 

Over her first-born, when its eye 

Turns in its last dumb agony 
To fix on her, than I for them ! — 
Against my will I do the things 
Which God and my own heart condemn ; 

For there are stronger powers than kings, 
And he who wears a diadem, 

May flutter, eagle-like, with chained wings !" 

" Against thy will ! — thy wings enchained ! 

Aye ! they are chained ! and to thy shame ! 

O King, be worthy of the name ! 
If, but thy rightful rule regained, 

Thou shouldst drive out the hungry pack 
Of northern wolves, and waste their den ; 
If, with true heart, thou wouldst again 

Honor Jehovah, and call back 
His banished servants, that would be 
Worthy thy sceptered royalty ! 
Then should the swelling clouds exude 
Their rainy balm on field and wood ; 
Earth's bursting heart again should cheer 
The rounded sheep and fattened steer ; 
And the glad globe again should shine ; 
With blooming pledge of corn and wine ; 
And thus the surest pledge be given 
That thou art the approved of heaven !" 

Thus Obadiah : and replied 

The king : " Bitter thy words but true : 



I98 ELIJAH. 



Let us my friend, the herds divide, — 
The fields divide, and then we two, 
Each with his troop will journey through 
The land, to see if yet enow 
Of water be in brook or spring 
To keep the beasts from perishing : 
And if some unfrequented sward, 
Unfed perchance, may yet afford 
The remnant of the royal stud, 
Some scanty, yet sufficient food. 
This our first task and chief — yet not 
Our sole : it may not be forgot, 
We seek Elijah — not his life — 
'Twere shame to wake the ancient strife — 
But chance the years are past wherein 
Israel must suffer for his sin, 
And the strange Tishbite's prayer may gain 
For us the boon of rain. — 
And truth I would confession make 
Of crime perhaps, or dire mistake, 
For self and for my people's sake. 
Then may the people, long misled, 
Drive out these vermin that have bred 
Among the state's sores, and the grim 
Abominations of the north, 
Leave loathing, and adore thenceforth 
The Lord Jehovah, and in Him 
Rest with a faith that shall not dim ! 
And who knows not that he for this, 
The empire that now severed is 
May reunite, and on the throne 
May place the king that thus shall own 
Him God, and Him alone. 



ELIJAH. 199 

All this we seek ; and now depart 

Nor let night's raven plumes turn gray 
In the faint morn, or ere thou art 

To-morrow on thy way. 
Ere then a trusty hand shall bring 

Our more especial ordering." 
Thus spake the king nor yet was he 
Unconscious of inconstancy 
Nor even of inconsistency, 
And now, nor more of conference had 
Nor wholly hopeful, nor all sad, 

The minister obeyed the king. 
Tis such obedience that saves 

The shaking state, when indecision 

Has made its power a derision, 

When half are ready to be slaves 

And half to be the facile tools 

Of oligarchs and anarchists, 

When every knave does what he lists 

Despite alike of him who rules, 

And of the law which like a wall 

Is guarding and protecting all ! — 

'Tis then the prudent and the good 
Ever obedient, are more 
Punctilious than e'er before, 
Lest the unthinking crowd should give 

To order the contempt that they 
Cherish for the executive, 
And thus break up and sweep away, 

Beyond all power to cement 
The sure foundations laid in blood 

And strong in time and precedent ! — 



200 ELIJAH. 



Tis then, lest they should jeopardize 

The law-protected liberty 

Of those that are already free, 

That with an uncomplaining tongue 
They bear the gall of chronic wrong — 
So led unto the sacrifice, 
The master went a patient lamb, 
A sheep before his shearer dumb 

And opened not his mouth, 
So many a bondman of the south 
And so in Cleveland prison some 
Endured unmurmuring martyrdom 
Until deliverance came ! 

Book III. 

A mountain from a broad vale sprung 

With terraces embossed, and graced 
With snowy shepherd cots, that hung 

Like jewels at its waist ! 
Samaria crowned the summit, and 

It lay reposing on the heath, 
Like a huge camel on the sand, 

His load of spice and gems beneath ! 
And as some fair Circassian girl, 
With peach-bloom cheek and teeth of pearl, 
The glory of the caravan, 
Bought as a bride for the sultan, 
So turbaned with the setting sun, 
The haughty city shone! 

There stood Astarte's fane : half hid 
An artificial grove amid — 



ELIJAH. 201 



Whose trees, yet fed with painful care, 
Where all was waste, grew green and fair! 
So fair, that sin it seemed to forbid 
The sin that bade them flourish there ! 

The queen and the great concourse with her 

Meanwhile ascended thither : 
Viewed from the grey heights o'er the plain, 
The myriads that formed her train, 
Seemed like a snake, that slowly rolled, 
Coil after coil, and fold by fold, 
Its hideous hugeness, black and cold ! 
Seen nearer, all its splendor showed, 
The gilded standards flashed and glowed, 
And spear and helm and priestly dress 
Shone in their jeweled gorgeousness ! 
The queen herself rode up the height 
Borne on a mule of milky white, 
Proud of the housings which he wore, 
But prouder of the load he bore. 

The temple reached, upon the ground 
She lights — her garments like a cloud, 

Floating her graceful shape around : — 
On each side sways the surging crowd, 

Obsequious, that their mistress may 
Find unimpeded way. 

Enwrapped in mystery and gloom, 

Within the sacred adytum, 

Where the full day might never come, 

The goddess had her shrine : 
Carved o'er with many a quaint design 



202 ELIJAH. 



And mystic symbol, and above, 
Reposed within a dim alcove, 
Veiled with a web of woven gold, 
Her effigy, a wondrous stone, 
Dropped by herself from Heaven down, 
So the tradition told. 

He who profane dare pass within 
The holiest precinct, for his sin, 
Strange agonies would seize on him, 
And racking pain in joint and limb, 
And only his deserved death 
Appease offended Ashtoreth ! 
Yet Jezebel with fanatic zeal, 
And reckless of the people's weal, 
Maddened, and ready to lay down, 
For her false gods, her life and crown, 
Ventured the dark within, and set 
Upon the shrine her coronet, — 
Of gold, and with glittering gems adeck ; 
And from the ivory of her neck, 
Unclasped her chain of pearls, of price 
All speech beyond, and fabulous size, 
(King Ahab's present to his bride), 
And laid it down the crown beside ! 
The priests applaud the sacrifice, 
She heeds them not, but passes out 
Trembling and flushed at her own daring, 
With step so firm and queenly bearing, 

So goddess-like and grand, 
The multitude a moment doubt 
If not their queen have perished, and 



ELIJAH, 203 

This be Astarte's self descending 
To punish them for her offending ! 
A moment only, and then seeing 
Her safe, she seemeth now to be 
Some favorite of the deity, 

Some heaven-guarded being. 
With one impulse they fall, 
And with one voice aloud they call 
" A miracle ! 
A miracle ! 
Astarte Jezebel ! 
Astarte Jezebel ! " 

Scorning the abjects, as they lie 
Adoring her divinity, 
She passes on as though she were 
A goddess — the proud Lucifer! 
And mounts a throne prepared for her. 
Then to herself : " O this is well ! — 
All thanks to Ashtoreth and Bel ! — 
For what hath been my girlish dream 

Shall to the letter be made good 

By action of my womanhood, 
And Sidon's gods shall be supreme ! 
Now, for the Tishbite seeks the king, 

If he be found ? — why then it is 

My life or his ! 
And that vile sneak, that toad, that thing, 
That pitiful whining chamberlain — 
I hate him ! — long ere this were slain, 
Did I not hope through him to get 
The prophet in my clutches yet ! 



204 ELIJAH. 



I'll manage the old lion first — 
Then for the jackal ! Both be cursed ! " 
The people rise : the depths profound 
With music fill, that floats around 
Waking the echoes that were mute 
In rock and tree, with voice of lute, 

Harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer ! 
And moving to the music come, 
The temple's dim recesses from, 

Willing slaves of a hellish creed, 

Astarte's priests with horrid deed 

Unutterable, consecrate 

To the vile rites they celebrate ! 
Twelve virgin priestesses, all pale 

As whited marble, as their dress 
Of haziest lawn — a vapory vail 

That floated round the loveliness 
It draped but hid not — passed before 
The priests, and strewed their pathway o'er 
Pomegranate blooms and myrtle spray, 

And flowers of storax and zukkum tree, 
And every blossoming gift of May, 

Blooming with fragrance and fair to see! — 
Fair to see ! — but far more fair 
Were the flashing palms that scattered them there ! 
Fair to see ! — but fairer yet 
Each manna-white brow and eye of jet, 
And rounded shoulder and little wrist, 
That gleamed through the web of tissuey mist ! 

In, purple robed, then came twelve priests, 
Bearing salvers of silver, whereon 



ELIJAH. 205 



The bloody entrails of slaughtered beasts, 

Ghastly and quivering shone : 
And followed them twelve more that were 
Swinging censers of fuming myrrh, 
And cinnamon and fragrant thus, 
And sandal-wood and calamus, 
Aromatic and odorous. 

These of the priests the chief and arch, 
And following were many more ; 
Yet little boots it what they bore : — 
With aspect grave and drooping head 
And slow and solemn tread, 
Around the Asherah they march ; 
This was a shaft of cypress wood, 
Surmounted with an image rude 
And hideous — part beast, part human, — 
The limbs and body of a woman, 
The head a heifer's — symbol fit, 
Of the vile worship rendered it, 
Whatever of grace in mien and dress 
Still culminating in beastliness ! 
They girt it round — a living wall, 
And on their bended knees they fall ; 
And toward the idol bowing, utter 
Strange jargon and unmeaning cant, 
In wailing tones and suppliant, 
Mingled with howlings dissonant ; 
And incantations fierce they mutter, 
And curses fearful ; oath and spell 
Redolent with the fumes of hell. 
They rise — and in the gloom and night, 
The fane within, they pass from sight. 



206 ELIJAH. 



Not so the maids : they watch the sun, 
That floats, a burning hulk, upon 
The ocean of the western skies — 
They gaze with fascinated eyes, 
Until it sinks, and nought remains 
Of the huge wreck, but shattered stains - 
The fragments of a myriad dyes ! 
Nor watch they long — as from a trance 
Awaked — they join in song and dance ! 

SONG. 

Day is departed 

Night with her train, 

Steals up the mountain side 
From the grey plain. 

Loved of the mighty Bel, 

Shaming the asphodel, 

Bring we our prayer 

Here to thy fane ! 

Empress of evening ! 

Giver of dew ! 
Come to thy faithful ones ? 

Shine in the blue ! 
Humbly we kneel to thee, 
Eager we watch for thee, 

Rise at our prayer, 
Giver of dew ! 

Goddess ! Astarte ! 

Bride of the night ! 
Lighten the heavens, and 

Gladden our sight ! 



ELIJAH. 207 



Holy and beautiful ! 
List to the dutiful ! 
Answer our prayer, 
Bride of the night ! 



L i=>' 



Thus sang the circling nymphs entwined 
Or over-arched with arms denude, 

And graceful swaying vines ; 
Their tresses floating in the wind, 
That played melodious interlude 

Among the tremulous pines. 
They pause : delirious response 
From myriad throats break forth at once, 
And mingle with the beat of drums, 
"The goddess comes! she comes! she comes!' 
For the crescent moon in the hazy blue, 
Was gleaming the dusty ether through ! 

What followed it were crime to name, 
What rights obscene — what deeds of shame : 
The muse may not pollute her verse, 
Nor need she more rehearse. 

Book IV. 

The evening passed ; the sorrowing moon, 

Beautiful priestess of the blue, 
Pale as a maiden from a swoon 

Recovering, the starred temple through, 
Deftly her silvern urn had borne, 

Lest on the pitied earth should fall 
The baptism of forbidden dew! — 

And then some song funereal 
The sad stars sang until the morn ! 



208 ELIJAH. 



And now the truce of night hath ceased, 

And the vindictive Sun begins 
Over the ramparts of the east 

To hurl his javelins ! 
All deadly now, but direst death 
Presaging, when the gaping vents 
Of high noon's brazen battlements 
Are open, and he showereth 

His shafts all pitilessly thence, 
A blazing pestilence ! 

Now wearily upon the road, 

Against all hope still hopeful striving, 
Supporting by his steel-shod goad 
His own uncertain steps, and driving 
The cattle flagging or astray 
Before him on the dusty way, 
Toils Obadiah : soon a rock 
Its friendly shade hangs o'er him 
And there a moment he delays, 
Giving the young men with the flock 
To pass brief space before him, 
And kneeling prays : 

" O who alone art God ! if not 

This sin-cursed land have overpassed 

Thy boundless mercy — if thou hast 

Thine Israel not all forgot, 

O heed not thou their wickedness, 
But turn and bless ! 

" The flocks are dead — no blossoms burst 
Forth from the barren earth and cursed, 



ELIJAH. 209 

And thy poor Israel — they pine 
And perish, as not thine ! 
O heed not thou their wickedness, 
But turn and bless ! " 

Then from his knees he rose, and glancing 

Up to the summit of the rock, 
He saw a man advancing, 

Whose every reverent snowy lock, 
And calm grey eye and saintly air, 
And silvery beard, that graceful flowed 
Over his robe of camel's hair, 

Down to his leathern zone — all showed 
Elijah : Obadiah well 

Knew him the prophet, and he laid 

His face unto the ground, and said : 

" My lord Elijah, thou ? " The seer 
Replied, "I am: go thou and tell 

Thy master I am here." 
" What have I done that thou shouldst bring 
Thy servant to the angry king, 
That he may slay me. There is not 
A kingdom or a nation where 
For thee King Ahab hath not sought ; 
And he hath made the princes swear 

Thou wast not with them hid ; 
And now thou dost thy servant bid 

Go, tell my lord that thou art here : 
And it shall be when I am gone, 

The spirit of the Lord shall bear 

Thee hence I know not where ; 
And then the king shall come anon, 



2IO ELIJAH. 

And I found false by him, shall die 
Disgraced — slain for a seeming lie ! — 
But I thy servant love the truth, 
And fear Jehovah from my youth ! 
Was it not to my lord revealed 
What part I played when Jezebel slew 
Jehovah's prophets ? I concealed 

A hundred of them in a cave, 
And fed them there ; now should I do 
What thou dost bid, — a liar's grave 
Shall open for me though I be 
True to my God and true to thee." 

Then thus Elijah answering : 
"As lives the Lord Omnipotent, 

He whom the hosts of Heaven adore, 
Whom I in reverence stand before, 
Surely will I to-day present 
Myself unto the king." 

O words with meaning over-fraught, 
Laden until submerged with thought, 
Like an o'erburdened ship that hides, 
Her wealth within her pregnant sides ! 
They spake far more than met the ear, 
They spake the land's deliverance near ! 
To-day, the seer should meet the king ; — 
To-morrow should the welkin ring 

With echoing tramp of coining rain ! — 
To-morrow should the rivulets leap 
From rocky nook and craggy steep — 

Curvetting, dancing o'er the plain, 



ELIJAH. 211 

And sing again, and sing again, 
Their merriest refrain ! 

Strong in these words — assured no less 

By the impassioned earnestness 

Of tone and eye and lineament 

Of him who spake, than the intent 

And purport of the words he spake, 

Which not the dullest might mistake, 

The gladdened Obadiah went 

To seek the king : — nor sought he long, 

Bred from a boy those hills among, 

Familiar with each pass therein 

As with the face of nearest kin, 

What way King Ahab must pursue, 

And where to find full well he knew, 

Nor wide diverged their course yet led, 

And o'er the interval he sped 

Like a lost stag that scents the herd, 

Nor straighter could have flown a bird, 

And erelong saw the royal camp 

Pitched where a gushing fount once sprung, 
And where some scattered palms still clung, 

And still the moisture from the damp 

Soil sucked persistent — there a pool 

Turbid and foul replaced the cool 

And copious spring — the scant supply 

By man and beast sought eagerly. 

There, 'neath the insufficient shade, 
The king had his encampment made, 
Soon as the climbing sun forbade 



212 ELIJAH. 

To travel further : — at the door 
Of his tent seated, he glanced o'er 
The landscape, suffering his eye 

O'er dell by dell, and height by height, 
Slowly to pass and leisurely, 

When Obadiah caught his sight. 

" Benoni — does the distant haze 
Confuse my vision as I gaze ? 
Come hither : — is not that a man 
Hastening toward our caravan ? 
It seems, Benoni, likest one 
Most faithful, but a few hours gone." 

"O King — thy thought is ne'er amiss: 
It is my lord — it is — it is ! " 

Nor lingering doubt could long remain, 
Or in the king, or in his train. 
Panting with haste, the pilgrim came, 
His face rubescent as with flame, 
And brow and cheek and beard were wet 
And glistering with beaded sweat, 
With his great news, his eye agleam, 
Shone brightly as if it were fired 
With oldest vintage, or inspired 
As the crazed priests of the Baalim, 
But clear as a gem amid the sand 
In the still depths of a shaded stream, 
Or as the eye that from Abarim 
Undimmed beheld the promised land ! 

His waiting words, all ripe for speech, 
Upon his lips hung tremulous ; 



ELIJAH. 213 



Then without order, as if each 
Were waiting to be uttered first, 
And pressing all at once, had burst 

The plastic door, they came, and thus : — 

"Elijah — I have found him — waits 
Thy coming — " 

" Waits for us ! 
Now, by the gods ! he overrates 
Our yielding — the imperious 
Beggar — to think to domineer 
Over his king ! We wait him here ! 
Slaves ! arm and fetch the snarling seer ! " 

" My lord, if I may speak, though true 
And wise thy words, yet for the sake 
Of thy poor starving people, who — " 

" Enough — we go — and yet to make 
Himself our peer ! — to wait us there ! — 
He hath done that no other dare ! " 

Two mares, the fleetest of the stud, 
Sprung from the best Arabian blood, 
A present from the Ishmaelite, 
Their skins all glossy, and as white 
As almond blossoms, soon were dight 
In costliest caparison, 
Were mounted, and like wind were gone. 
Steep, slope, and valley skimmed they o'er, 
Regardless of the load they bore. 

In the cool shadow of a ledge, 

Beneath its overhanging edge 

The prophet waiting sat ; 



214 ELIJAH. 



Nor rose he, but continued seated, 
When by the halting horsemen greeted ; 

King Ahab wroth whereat, 
Broke through the awe he felt but now 
For that calm eye and angry brow, 
And in his anger spake — " Art thou 
He that doth trouble Israel ? " 
Now rose the seer ; his mantle fell 

About his feet : his finger pointed, 
And his eye blazed upon the king, 
Who cowered like some guilty thing : — 
He felt that this was the anointed 

Prophet of God : no priest of Bel 
Fawned on him now : — ashamed, afraid, 
He trembled as Elijah said : — 

" I have not troubled Israel : 

But thou King Ahab : thou and thine, 

That have forsaken Elohim — 
Jehovah's statutes and his shrine ! 

And thou hast followed Baalim ! 
Now therefore send, O King, and call 
To me at Carmel Israel all ; 
And the prophets of Baal four 

Hundred and fifty, and the priests 
Of the lewd Asherah twenty score, 

Whom Jezebel daily feasts ! " 



Book V. 

Ho for the gathering ! they come ! 
The myriads of Ephraim from 
Their famed Samaria press, 



ELIJAH. 21 5 

And from her herded hills, that sleep 
About her, as o'erwearied sheep 

About their shepherdess ! 
And o'er Esdraelon journey far 
The husbandmen of Issachar! 

And from the north the men of Dan, 
From Jordan's springs, and Laish, won 

In fight from the Sidonian : 
And mariners of Zebulon : 
And Asher's sons from Lebanon : 
And from the far south Simeon : 
And from the borders of the land 
Came Reuben's swarthy shepherds, and 
Manasseh's stalwart herdsmen ; nor 
Did Gad keep back his sons of war ! 

Men used to seize the ready sword, 
Forsaking in the field the plow ; 

The controversy of the Lord 
Brings them to Carmel now. 

Mount of the vine ! — whose fertile slopes 
Each passing cloud had wooed and kissed, 
And every maiden mist — 
No more to welcome them he opes 
His wealth of leaves wherein lay hid 
Full many a glistening pyramid 
Of nectared amethyst ! 

Gone was the pride of Carmel — gone 
The green wood that he doated on ! 
The groves of oaks and pines that shed 
An emerald halo round his head, 



2l6 ELIJAH. 

All verdureless and scragged stood ; 
The wild goat and the mountain fox 
Still sought a refuge mid the rocks 

And crisp and tangled underwood. 

But refuge only : for their food 
They wandered down the mountain side, 
Where babbled the perennial tide 

Of noisy Kishon — e'en now fed 

By rills that flashed like silver thread 

Among the stones to which they fled, 
And with the lizards sought to hide ! 
Kishon — that in his greatest length, 

Swollen by freshets swept acrost 
From distant Tabor, with the strength 

Of a young giant, as to his cost 
Unwary Sisera found : 
Now, shrinking 'mid the shadows wound 
A rill, o'er which a child might bound. 
Yet his dear olives still stood by, 
And his loved laurels lingered nigh, 
And drooped and pined in sympathy. 

The place was wisely chosen. Here 
Between what was and what had been, 

Dismal the contrast showed and clear — 
The saddening fruit of sin ! 

Here, if at all, the state might be 

Redeemed from its idolatry. 

And here was full provision made 

For the vast throng — wood, water, shade 

As here, where readily one might 

Sweep with a glance o'er all the land, 



ELIJAH. 217 



From Lebanon's proud and fir-crowned height, 
To the more modest hills that were 
About Samaria — here the grand 
Display of the Almighty hand 
Found fitting amphitheater. 

And the time came : and from the tops 

Of Jordan's hills, with sheen aglow, 
The silver sandaled morning tripped 
With quick elastic step, and tipped 

With radiance, rock and tree and copse, 
Down to the plain below ! 

And there the gathered thousands stood, 
Shading the earth for many a rood, 
Nor ventured up the mountain side, 
But rolled against it, like the tide 

Of the beach-baffled flood ! 
Above, surrounded by his foes, 
The holy seer undaunted, rose, 
His tall thin frame, with watching worn, 
And waste with fasting, towered, upborne 

By strength supernal, and his eye 
Beamed in the slant light of the morn 

With more than mortal brilliancy. 
Toward him the throng spontaneous bent, 
With eye dilate and ear attent, 
And silent stood to catch each word, — 
So silent, that you might have heard 
The white-winged waves that low and sweet 
Cooed and fluttered at Carmel's feet, — 
Or Kishon, wandering in the dells, 

Tinkling his silver bells. 



2l8 ELIJAH. 



The prophet spake, and clear and strong 
His stern tones thrilled the startled throng 
To where its farthest fringes trod, 
" How long flit ye from limb to limb ? 
Serve ye the Lord if He be God! — 
If Baal, follow him ! " 

He paused — the issue which he made 
How could they meet, or how evade? 
Trimmers and changelings ! that they were, 
Although the prophet's metaphor 
Had stripped them of their thin disguise, 
And left no room for compromise, 
They were unwilling to decide, 
But from the issue sought to hide 
In silence, that which ever is 
The mean and juggling artifice 
Of moral cowardice ! 

Weak and misguided herd ! On them 

To pity more than to condemn, 

Without rebuke, without a frown, 

The prophet's princely soul looked down, 

He spake as to an erring child, 

With voice at once both firm and mild : 

"I, and I alone — remain 

I — Jehovah's only seer, 
But four hundred and fifty men 

Are Baal's prophets here. 
Let them furnish bullocks twain : 
For themselves the choicest slain, 



ELIJAH. 

Crown the pile which they uprear : 
Let no kindling coal come near : 
Let them pray their gods to hear : 

I will bow before the Lord, 
And will call upon his name : 

Be he God, that thus implored, 
Answereth in flame." 

No silence now : all Israel 
Responded :— "It is spoken well." 

Then to the priests Elijah spake : 
" Ye are many, and well may make 

Your trial first — choose ye your steer 

Dress it, but place no fire near, 
Then bid your gods uphold their fame 
In oracle of flame!" 

The wily priests this challenge fair 

Would have refused, but did not dare. 

They took the bullock which was given 
And offered him a sacrifice, 
With shrieking and insensate cries ; 

And, as if by some demon driven, 
They madly danced the altar round, 
They pressed their faces to the ground, 

They lifted up their hands to heaven : 

They cast them prone: they abject crept: 
They madly on the altar leaped, 
With howl and groan, grimace and tear, 

And still o'er all the shout would swell, 
"OBaal, hear! O Baal, hear!" 



219 



220 ELIJAH. 

But no response — no voice there fell, 
No answering oracle ! 

And morning grew to noon : and now, 
When most propitious was the hour, 

For Baal, god of the sun, to show 
His plenitude of power, 

Elijah mocked with bitter taunts 
The pitiable miscreants. 

"Cry out aloud — he is a god! — 
But in discourse absorbed and deep, 
Or in the chase — or chance asleep, 

And must be waked ! — aloud ! — aloud ! " 

With shrieks more fearful than before 
More wildly round the pile they dash ; 
Like ravening wolves their teeth they gnash 
Their keen knives in the sunshine flash ! 
A breath! — in agony they roar! — 
Spurts the warm blood their garments o'er, 
And drip their brandished blades with gore. 
From many a self-inflicted gash. 

Nor ceased they their mad prophesying, 
Till the bronzed day lay pale and dying— 
Yet came no god — no flame divine, 
No answer — no response — no sign ! 

Hail, holy eve ! The prophet's soul 
Sees what his eye may not behold, 
Against the temple turrets rolled, 

In curling and murky wave and scroll, 



ELIJAH. 221 

The smoke of the evening sacrifice : 

Up to the heavens he sees it rise, 
Growing purer in its ascending : 

And when to the shining bars it clings, 
He sees the angel Forgiveness bending 
With outspread wings. 

Then holy time and fit — the seer, 
Bidding the people to draw near, 

Prepared an altar for the Lord, 
Building it of twelve massy stones — 
Twelve ! — the full count of Jacob's sons ! 

The patriot ! — not by deed or word 
Would he concede that they might sever 
Their union ! Never ! never ! never ! 

He trenched the altar round, and when 

The ready victim on the wood 

Was placed, he bade the pile to flood 
With water, and to flood again, 
And yet again to pour and pour, 

Till from the altar, with the drench 
Thrice drowned and saturate — it flowed o'er 

And filled the trench. 

Now all with expectation burned, 
All eyes unto the prophet turned, 
Who stood erect, calm, confident, 
The ideal and embodiment 
Of the great office which he filled, 
Grandest and noblest of his guild. 

The turbid surface of this world, 

The godless clouds and passionate air, 



222 ELIJAH. 



By every mad impulse are hurled, 

Tumultuous, restless, everywhere ! 
The quiet of the holy stars, 
No violence breaks, no passion mars ; 
True children of the soul divine, 
In his tranquillity they shine : 
Enraged as those the priests appear, 
And undisturbed as these the seer ! 

Unto the altar drawing near, 

With hands uplift together laid, 

And eyes on heaven fixed, he prayed : 

" O Lord, the God of Abraham, 

Of Isaac, and of Israel, 
That thou art God, and that I am 
Thy servant, O let this day tell : 
And O, to-day, let it be known 
That all the things that I have done 
Are done according to thy word : 

Hear me, O hear me, Lord ! — 
That all the people may discern 

That thou, Jehovah, truly art 
God only, and that thou dost turn 

To thee again their heart." 

He ceasing, swift fire from the skies 
Fell and consumed the sacrifice — 
Consumed the wood, and stones, and dust, 
And drank the flooded trench, and thrust 
Its hissing tongue in every cleft, 
Till not a drop was left ! 



ELIJAH. 223 



The multitude, awe-smitten, prone 
Fell, and upon the earth lay strown, 
As in the harvest lies the grain, 
Or on the battle field the slain : 
Then rose tumultuous, and along 
From lip to lip ran through the throng 
A low electric undertone, 
Like the premonitory moan 
The mountain gives, ere it awakes 
Its slumbering furnaces, and shakes 

The earth, and makes the forests nod, 
Then simultaneous they break out, 
And o'er and o'er shout answered shout : 
"Jehovah — He is God! 
Jehovah — He is God!" 



WAR POEMS. 



TO ABRAM LINCOLN. 

March 4, 1861. 

A /TAN of the hour ! Goes up for thee 
The nation's fervid prayer to heaven 
That thou mayst have the strength of seven, 
The wisdom and the energy. 

Unto its principles connate — 

Born with it in the revolution — 

Embodied in the constitution — 
If thou bring back the wandered state : 

If thou shalt guard the interests vast 
Of sections, giving the ascendant 
To North and South : if, independent 

Of all control of clique and caste, 

Firm for the right, but not severe, 

With no unnecessary terror 

Coercing crime, reforming error, 
All unto all thou shalt endear : 

Man of the people, if thou be 

Fit for the burden laid upon thee, 
The nation's gratitude shall crown thee 

"Father and Guardian of the Free!" 



JAMES BUCHANAN. 22$ 

And thou shalt link thy name with his 
First in the chair to which thou risest, 
In battle chief, in council wisest, 

And share his apotheosis. 



JAMES BUCHANAN. 

ET no one curse him. If he bear 
The memory of his own misdeeds 
Not in the utterest despair 

Of deepest hell — where Vengeance feeds 
His sateless maw — not there can be 
A fiend accursed more curst than he ! 

Can he forget? — who basely crushed 
Freedom, when for her right she strove 

In infant Kansas ? — how he hushed 

Her death-cry? — how his minions drove 

With bullet and with bayonet 

The emigrant back ? — can he forget ? 

Can he forget perverted law 

Through him perverted and for him ? 

Dred Scott ! It should his heart-strings gnaw 
And haunt his sleep with specters grim ! 

That spirit will not down ! Forget ! — 

Though dead, it should pursue him yet ! 

The frauds performed beneath the eye 
Of him who sware a solemn oath 

To guard the nation's treasury 

And honor — and betrayed them both : 



226 WAR POEMS. 



High-handed shameless thefts, and he 
Suspected as accessory : 
Conniving at the villainy! — 

His falsehood manifest and gross : 

His criminal duplicity : 
His weak and pusillanimous 

Pretence that not by law could he 
Restrain a mob with plain intent 
To overthrow the government : 

His nurture of secession clans : 
His mean and despicable course 

Toward them, who fellow-partisans, 
Would not impose by fraud and force 

Slavery on virgin soil, despite 

Their oaths, the people's will, and Right S 

Heroic Anderson immured 

In sea-girt Sumter, with no aid 

Afforded him, but ill-secured 

From famine, or from cannonade : — 

The nation's banner trampled low 

A scoffing for a ribald foe : — 

The air surcharged with voices dread : 
The Union rent : the very halls 

Of Congress echoing to the tread 
Of men in arms : the arsenals 

And fortresses by traitors held : 

The nation's dirge by traitors knelled! — 



FROM THE NORTH. 227 

If these the thoughts that must pass through 

The old man as he sits in his 
Retirement — these that shall pursue 

Him like the scourge of Nemesis — 
In hottest Tartarus can be 
No fiend accursed more cursed than he ! 

Then let none curse him ! His grey hair 
Should spare him that : and it not needs 

That we should curse him : he must bear 
The memory of these dire misdeeds ! 

And that were curse enough for one ! 

Leave him to that and God alone ! 



FROM THE NORTH. 

Aug. 25, 1S61. 

T N the hoar years ere from the earth 

Were all the spawn of Chaos gone ; 
When yet in brake and glade had birth 
The mammoth and the mastodon ; 

Swept from the North the Glaciers down 

In a resistless caravan : — 
Mammoth was crushed and mastodon, 

And earth prepared for coming man ! 

When Vice and Art with equal step 
Had followed where the eagles went, — 

When Rome was rotten, and the world 
With her corruption redolent ; 



228 WAR POEMS. 



Came from the North the Goths apace, 
And swept corruption from her seat, 

And earth begat a nobler race 
A manlier and more complete ! 

Now when the Southern saurian feeds 
On human hopes and human hearts, 

And Roman tyranny and crime 

Have found their Southern counterparts, 

Another flood sweeps from the North ! 

Beware of its resistless tide ! 
Room for the Glacier and the Goth ! 

The Union must be purified ! 



THE PANIC. 

Dec. 1S60. 

'""PHE nation sits in terror! crouching low, 

Like an affrighted madman 'mid the tombs : 
Her brow distort — her glaring eye aglow 

With frenzy and with fear : and froths and fumes 
Her slavered lip : and hiss and grate her teeth : 
And 'neath her clenched nails her quick flesh quivereth ! 

It is the throe of life ! For now the fiend 
Is driven forth ! — the demon at whose nod 

The sire, the matron, and the babe unweaned 
Unholy holocaust accursed of God ! — 

At the fiend's beck these was she wont to bring 

And lay at slavery's shrine the dreadful offering ! 



A DREAM. 229 



It is the throe of life ! For sits above 
He who of old cast out the unclean horde 

In far Judea ! With a look of love, 

He speaks, and she shall recognize her Lord ! 

Let the fiend rage ! — for cometh of this strife 

Freedom, and Lasting Peace, and Sanity and Life ! 



A DREAM. 

Aug. 26, 1S61. 

T LAY upon the sofa after dinner, 
* And read the second time the day's despatches, 
And from the outer world passed to the inner, 
Closing unconsciously my eyelid's hatches. 

And then I dreamed, but knew not I was dreaming, 
I thought me in Gethsemane — before me 
The Man Divine, in holy radiance beaming, 
And Judas and his band with faces stormy. 

And while I looked the Master had evanished, 
And in his stead there stood a matchless maiden 
In queenly beauty — on her hair a planished 
Gold cincture blazed, — with diamond letters laid in. 

And I read " Liberty." Her robe star-studded, 
Of misty azure lawn, her zone encinctured : — 
Her silken zone, o'er which her bosom budded, 
And which the Heavenly trine of colors tinctured. 

And where the High Priest stood I now saw standing, 
His reverence, Bishop Polk — and in the places 
Of those the Jewish priest was late commanding, 
To my amaze, I saw familiar faces. 



230 WAR POEMS. 



Letcher and Wise and Lee, and A. H. Stephens, 
And Beauregard, and Mason and his black son, 
And many more, in groups of fives and sevens, 
And in a place secure was Claib. F. Jackson. 

Anxious I looked to see who stood for Judas : 
Whoe'er it was, a paper he was holding — 
A name thereon — imperfectly I viewed, as 
The name was mostly hidden by the folding. 

I saw two letters only — the initial 
J., and the last one, S. — and so concluded 
That Satan still retained his chief official — 
And then the whole was on my gaze obtruded ! 

It was Jeff. Davis — then I saw his face too — 
It was Jeff. Davis ! — how could it be other ? 
Since ne'er found Satan in the human race, two 
Rascals so like, as brother to twin brother ! 



WE MOURN. 

/^UR hearts are sad : ashamed we stand : 

We sing our songs of joy no more : 
For pagan temples fill the land, 
And pagan rites, and pagan lore. 

The mighty work our fathers wrought, 

Their faith, their prayers, their zealous war, 

The blood they shed — all, all was nought, 
If Anti-Christ be conqueror : 



NOLI, ME TAN GERE. 23 1 

If still by swamps of Pontchartrain 

The negro hold his rites obscene ; 
And Asia's son build Boodah's fane, 

Where once the cross of Christ has been. 

Thy hosts, our God no more advance : 

Their arms are hushed — their lips are dumb! 

For into thine inheritance 

The idols of the nations come. 



NOLI ME TANGERE. 

T ET us alone, you beggarly knaves ! 

For by our account you are much in arrears, 
Though you've paid our postage for eighty years, 
And guarded our coasts and kept down our slaves ! 
We want nothing to do with you ! let us alone ! 
Your degraded society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

We were willing to govern as long as you'd yield 
To our whims, and were ready your betters to please, 
But if all that's to end, and our fat offices 

Are taken away, then can never be healed 

Our division : 'Tis plain what we always have known, 
Your degraded society lowers our tone. 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

If you will consent to shoulder the sin 

And disgrace of the slave trade, while we take the 

gain 
Perhaps you may not then solicit in vain 



232 WAR POEMS. 



For us, with our chivalrous views, to come in, 

And still suck the marrow and leave you the bone ! 
But now your society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

We never expected when we took the forts 

And the mints and the arms and munitions of war, 
That you mean thieving Yankees would ask us 
therefor — 
We never once dreamed of you closing our ports 
And coming to claim them again as your own ! 
We say your society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

You were so slow about it, we thought you afraid 
To reinforce Sumpter — so eight thousand men 
Whipped eighty of yours, and could do it again — 
But had we foreseen all the fuss it has made 

We would not have touched it ! but now it is done 
We're afraid you'll come down here and lower our 
tone ! 

Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

Let us alone ! or we'll ship no more corn 

To feed your starved paupers — our cotton we'll sell 
At the highest cash price as a favor, if well 

You'll behave and not trouble us, else we are sworn 
Not to touch your vile coin, — unless, as is known, 
We can steal it ! For that might not lower our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

Let us alone ! If you don't we shall arm 

Our negroes against you — and you ought to be 
Afraid of their prowess, for we are, and we 



NOLI ME TAN GERE. 233 

Of their rising are living in nightly alarm ! — 

You would better beware of our strength ere it's 

shown, 
We insist your society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

Remember the deeds of our sires, how they clipped 
The claws of the Lion, or could if they would, — 
How they drove out the British, or would if they 
could, — 
While your dastardly Northeners soundly were whipped 
In every battle ! Yes, every one ! 
We say your society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let use alone ! 

The fact is, we don't like the prompt issuing forth 

Of the thousands in arms at the President's call ! 

We assure you we do not approve it at all ! 
We can not abide your United North ! 

It reminds us of hemp ! we don't like your backbone ! 

We repeat, your society lowers our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 

Our Beauregard is coming to take 

Your capital from you, as soon as he can ! 

Old Abe and his cabinet, every man, 
We expect to hang ! and we think we shall make 

Your regiments run ! We want Washington ! 

But don't you touch us — 'twould lower our tone ! 
Let us alone ! Let us alone ! 



234 WAR POEMS. 



THE ST. LOUIS SLAVE PEN. 

TT fronts upon the city street, 

It shrinks not from the gazer's eye — 
The slaver's pen and mart — the seat 
And hold of legal tyranny. 

A temple of the Man Divine 

Stands near — so near the captive's wail 
Might penetrate its sacred shrine 

And turn the guilty Brahmins pale. 

Why opens not the vault of hell 
Beneath, to swallow it, as of old 

Korah was swallowed ? How can fell 
Vengeance her doom so long withhold ? 

The curse of God upon it fall ! 

His curse be on its dungeons dim ! 
His curse be on its frowning wall ! 

His curse be on its lattice grim ! 

Oft have I seen in the hot noon 

Crowding the dormer window there, 

The thralls that strove from sultry June 
To catch a waif of freer air. 

A mother there, whose lighter hue 
Proclaimed her of our Saxon kin, 

Would let her baby's fingers woo 

Through the stern grate the sunlight in ! 

And in the room beneath among 

Foul ledgers and pest-breeding scrolls, 

The ghoul — the panderer to wrong, 
Sat brooding o'er the price of souls ! 



ST. LOUIS SLAVE PEN. 235 

Lower with bolt and rivet tells 

The sullen door, what victims groan, 

And clank their festering manacles, 
In noisome cell, and chamber lone. 

It tells what pitiable fate 

Awaits the hapless wretch who dare, 
Being of the race unfortunate, 

Forget the bondsman's gait and air — 

Or who perchance has dared to flee, 
To wrench the irons from his hands, 

And taste the sweets of liberty 

In bosky swamps and bottom lands — 

Or dared to let his unpruned love 

Stray truant from his master's whim — 

Or dared obey the One above 
In disobedience to him ! 

O none can know the broken hearts — 
There broken, but the righteous Lord ! 

The inquisition and its arts 
Is in America restored ! 

The curse of God upon it fall ! 

His curse be on its dungeons dim ! 
A curse upon its frowning wall ! 

A curse upon its lattice grim ! 

Its hour has come if ye be men ! 

Its walls are weak before your frown ! 
Down with the slaver's gloomy pen ! 

Down with the Bastile — down ! 



22,6 WAR POEMS. 



DAVID. 

"T^AVID read Greek with me in college. — Black 

Was he as Kedar's tents — black as the clouds 
That nurse the summer lightnings ; and his hair 
Curled like them on his knotted poll ; 
A scar — a relic of old servitude 
Ugly and huge — athwart his forehead lay ; 
His slanted eyes shone like two crescent moons, 
His nose retreated from the offensive world 
And sought repose upon his mustached lip 
Beneath whose quivering marge the pillared teeth 
Their two-fold ivory piled — a giant's causeway: 
He was not beautiful — but yet there was 
A certain manly dignity about him 
Which won respect. His nature, tropical, 
Sensuous, intense, and somewhat animal, 
Found prose too tame and so expressed itself 
In rhyme and rhythm. And when the burden was 
His people's woes, a wild Jeremiad 
Came from his pen all rank with trope and curse, 
Once, in the war when the confederate arms 
Were for a day triumphant, in despair 
He wrote out this, — and showed it unto me. 

A FAST DAY PSALM. 

Smite thou our foes, O God ! 

Our foes and thine 
Pursue them with thy rod, 

And scourge the race malign ! 



DAVID'S PSALM. 2tf 

Do thou in anger cast 

Thy lightnings down, 
Blazing and hot, to blast 

Forest and field and town ! 

Destroy their yearning kine, 

Send not their grain, 
Or shower or blessed shine, 

And blight their sugary cane ! 

Their rice fields water not, 

Their cotton waste, 
Cause their ripe corn to rot 

And fig and vintage blast. 

In counsel and in arms 

Alike confound : 
Let dangers and alarms 

Encircle them around ! 

Whatever stings and galls 

Upon them pile, 
Dismay their generals 

And scatter rank and file ! 

Their perjured President 

Give unto us, 
That he be fitly sent 

To his end infamous ! 

Have they not sought to crush 

Order and law 
With slavery's iron teeth 

And adamantine jaw ? 



238 WAR POEMS. 



Our stars — that, like the dawn, 
Shone, Freedom's crown, — 

Has not their dragon drawn 

From heaven the third part down ? 

And bear they not his mark 

Upon their brows ? 
And is he not the dark 

God of their prison house ? 

Have they not sworn by him 

With bloody lips ? 
Curse them, O God, and dim 

Their day with dense eclipse ! 

Curse them, and blast and blight, 

With wrath divine ! 
And drive forth to the night 

Our enemies and thine ! 



THE WAR. 

Written at St. Louis. 

A \ JAR hath its evils, but the time of peace 

Hath its no less. When in the summer heat, 

'Neath the hot noon the weary sickles cease 
Their plashing cadence ; and the rustics seat 
Themselves to rest where shading branches meet, 

And watch the flickering air, and fall asleep ; 
And all is still ; — e'en in the ripened wheat 

Whistles no bird : — then from the hollows deep, 

Serpent and lizard glide, and o'er the dreamers creep ! 



THE WAR. 239 



So when Peace gives her summer to the state, 

Corruption's nestlings from their caverns steal, 
With wily glittering eye and head elate, 

And coil around the sleeping Commonweal ! 

And hide their venom with their pledges leal ! 
O native land, since thus thou wast accursed, 

Welcome the thunder of Bellona's wheel ! 
Welcome her storm clouds that in carnage burst 
Remorseless/mid the writhing monsters by thee nursed ! 

And welcome now ! For this is better far 

Than were the thefts and treacheries of last year! — 
Better than that a single radiant star 

Should from my country's standard disappear! — 

Better than that forever should inhere 
In her the vestiges of barbarism ! 

The precepts of our fathers grow more dear, 
Now that our brows are moist with war's red chrism, 
And glows in us afresh the fire of patriotism ! 

The Union stood with something of Divine 

In its great condescension to the fears 
Of its antagonist, and gave no sign 

Till Sumter fell. Then no unmanly tears, 

But thunders woke, such as the goatherd hears 
Beneath Vesuvius ere it belches forth 

Upon the hamlets of the mountaineers 
Its hidden fires! From shop and smithy swarth, 
From farm and field, to arms, sprang the united North! 

The eager patriots pressed into the ranks 

From Hoosac's slopes and from the shops of Lynn, 

From Erie's strand and Hudson's villared banks: 
And Pennsylvania sent her yeomen in : 



24O WAR POEMS. 



And the great West furnished the Wolverine, 
Buckeye, Hoosier and Sucker for the war: 

And April heard the primal battle din, 
When Massachusetts soldiers fell before 

The mob, and stained with blood, the streets of Balti- 
more! 

Bosom and brain both are throbbing and beating, 
Sad Massachusetts her dead mourneth over, 
She of the soldiers both mother and lover, 
Sendeth to Maryland sorrowful greeting : 
" Lay them out tenderly, 
Gently and tenderly." 

Slain are her sons ! O the pang that thrills through her ! 
Yet was it glorious ! — brother and brother 
Slain for their country ! O, for their mother 
Lay them out gently, and send them unto her! 
" Lay them out tenderly ! 
Gently and tenderly ! " 

Anguish and glory twofold is upon her — 

Freedom's protectress ! The first blood to gain it 
She shed, and sheds now the first blood to retain it ! 
Great is the sorrow ! — but great is the honor ! 
" Lay them out tenderly — 
Gently and tenderly." 

Such was the message of the Governor : 

Sad — passing sad ! But other thoughts soon filled 

The public mind. Soon used to scenes of gore, 
Men heard with calmness tales that once distilled 
The cold sweat from their brows, and even chilled 



THE WAR. 24I 



Their very heart's blood. Now to Washington, 

And camps wherein the gathered armies drilled, 
We turned, and from them turned to gaze upon 
St. Louis, and the empire of the setting sun. 

ST. LOUIS, MAY 8th, 1S61. 

'THE city is quiet ; and so is the sea 

Before the typhoon : and so is the air 
Ere the tempest bursts : but beware ! beware ! 
For sleep may presage the throe of death ! 
The surface is calm : but it may be 

That typhoon and tempest are lurking beneath ! 

I hear the clangor of arms as I pass : 
And women whisper with bated breath : 
And bearded men mutter between their teeth — 
This group for freedom, and this for the guilt 
And shame of our nation — alas ! alas ! 

Of war to the knife and the knife to the hilt ! 

And the nightly patrol of an armed police : 
And the daily departure of timid ones : 
And the workshop's hush, where the engine drones 
No more its song, nor the hammer drums 
The dreamy, monotonous notes of peace ! 
All mark the time till the crisis comes ! 

And the ominous tone of the daily press : 

And the gathered troops that respond to the call 
And muster in field and arsenal — 

These for the Union, and those to defend 
Rebellion : their meaning the blindest may guess : 
But One only above foreseeth the end ! 



242 WAR POEMS. 



The city is quiet : and so is the air 

E'er the tempest bursts ; and so is the sea 
Before the typhoon ; and the streets may be 
Barricaded tomorrow ; and desperate men 
In the conflict of arms ! Prepare ! — prepare ! 

To fight for your country ! to win, or be slain ! 

Such was the cloud that overhung the great 
Metropolis of the West — a cloud more dense 

Than all her smoky furnaces create — 

And that no springtime breeze could banish thence ! 
Nor lasted long the anguish of suspense : 
For trampling on the counsel of the good 

Treason went headlong to its consequence 

And dewed the grassy fields of May with blood, 
And Innocence was crowned with Freedom's martyr- 
hood ! 

Shone bright the jeweled grass where Morning touched 

her dewy feet, 
The white tents ranged beneath the trees seemed like 

an anchored fleet, 
A myriad leafy bannerets waved from every gladsome 

tree 
While billowy hillocks glistened through them like an 

emerald sea. 
Missouri's brave militia wove their evolutions gay 
Among the oaks of Lindell grove upon the tenth of May. 

O loyal hearts that for the stars and stripes beat 

warmly yet, 
Beware ! for treacherous leaders for your feet a snare 

have set ! 



THE WAR. 243 



For Beauregard and Davis each they've named an 

avenue, 
And would have raised ere now the rebel standard but 

for you. 
What mean those cannon from the southern foe in 

secret sent ? 
What mean those guarded muskets stolen from the 

government ? 
They mean that though some honest but misguided 

men are there, 
Secession, like a deadly plague, has poisoned all the air! 
Let Jackson in his impotence and fury fume and stamp ! 
He is a traitor foiled, and this is a secession camp ! 

Hark ! hark ! the tramp of soldiery ! In compact 

columns from 
The barracks and the arsenal, four thousand strong 

they come; 
Of Germans and Americans, for each his race forgets, 
Of regulars and militia, of Zouaves and cadets, 
With loaded Minie muskets and with bristling bayonets ; 
With heavy cannon threatening peril from their brazen 

throats, 
While the nation's standard over all in pride and glory 

floats. 
Camp Jackson is invested : upon each eminence, 
East, west, and south, the cannon stand, and hurl 

defiance thence ! 
Cheer up ye true hearts in the camp ! Quail, traitorous 

rebels, quail! 
Shake every coward knee, and every coward cheek 

turn pale ! 



244 W 7 .^ POEMS. 



The time for parleying is past — no terms are given now ! 
The foe must fight the government or to its power bow! 
Your camp is but a slaughter pit if that ye dare resist, 
And on his own head be the blood of each secessionist ! 
They surrender at discretion, let shouting fill the air. 
For the Union, for the stripes and stars, for Lyon and 
for Blair! 

Were honest men disgraced thereby ? No — no — it 

was no shame, 
Though loyal to your state to own your country's higher 

claim ! 
The overwhelming force no doubt struck terror to the 

hearts 
Of traitors, you so soon found out and foiled their 

fiendish arts : 
But you feared not : you would not shrink from death 

nor honored scars, 
But never — never would you fight against the stripes 

and stars ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Lyon, for Boernstein, and for 

Blair, 
Who strangled in its nursing, the first whelp secession 

bare! 
Let the she-wolf in her fury up and down the Ozarks 

roam ! 
Let her gnash her teeth with rage and slaver o'er her 

lip with foam ! 
But they'll hunt her from the mountains ! she shall 

find no covert there ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Lyon, for Boernstein, and for Blair ! 



THE WAR. 245 



Now wave your guests a long farewell, ye trees with 

bannerets green, 
For march the prisoners disarmed the loyal ranks 

between ! 
Thank God, as yet no blood is shed, though careless of 

their lives, 
The citizens stand gazing with their children and their 

wives, 
And yet there's always danger in the midst of mar- 
shaled troops, 
Were fitter place for you your homes, you gay appareled 

groups ! 
Were fitter place for you your homes ! for hark ! what 

noise is this ? 
What cursing of the Dutch, what mingled oath, and 

groan and hiss ? 
Not men are these, but demons, broken loose from 

Tophet's gates — 
And they're shouting for Jeff Davis, and for the 

Confederate states ! 

How long think you, these soldiers will this rampant 

treason bear ? 
How long be patient 'neath the taunt, — " Fire cowards, 

if you dare ! " 
Like veterans for an hour endure they all these raw 

recruits — 
But ye who sow the seeds of death, take now their 

bitter fruits ! 
For cursing, and for paving stones, and pistol shots, is 

due 
A dire reward, and maddened men send Minie balls 

to you ! 



246 WAR POEMS. 



The act was rash ? Concede it : but repentance comes 

too late, 
And men must learn what folly 'tis to tamper thus with 

fate ! 

O lovely vale of Lindell Grove, the blood upon thy sod, 
Shall hallow thee forevermore to Liberty — to God! 
Let hand of slave ne'er curse with toil — let foot of 

slave ne'er tread, 
Upon the consecrated soil, where lay thy martyred dead ! 
O sacred spot, whose chrism was the blood of Emily, 
Wave never banner o'er thee save the banner of the free ! 

O what a pang shot through the public heart 

When Ellsworth fell ! shame to Virginia ! shame ! 
That son of hers should act the assassin's part, 

And bring dishonor upon Jackson's name ! 

But quick the dastard's soul was sent to flame, 
And Justice gave her signet to the deed ! 

Warren and Ellsworth ! on the roll of Fame, 
Rank they together ! Honor's highest meed 
To both alike for aye be gratefully decreed ! 

Ere long the traitorous horde had gathered head 

Upon Manassas, and the impatient press 
Indignant at delay the populace fed 

With loud complaints of seeming sluggishness : 
" Why was the Capitol held in duress ? 

Forward to Richmond ! Drive the rebels back 
E'en to the gulf " — spake utter foolishness ! 

The army moved upon the foe ! alack ! 

And fled amain, with Ruin hard upon their track ! 



THE WAR. 247 



A dirge for the heroes — the heroes who fell ! 
The vales of Manassas are rich with their blood ! 
They burst on the foe like the sea at its flood, 
'Mid the hissing of balls and the crashing of shell ! 
On heroes, on 
Till the field be won ! — 
Long ye have fought, and bravely, and well! 

What though the cannon were spawning like hell 
Fire and death-hail, brood upon brood, 
What though the iron-winged fiends which they 
spewed, 
Rushed through the air with hiss and with yell ! 
Still on and on, 
And ye should have won ! 
For long ye fought and bravely and well ! 

Their batteries carried, the foe fled pell mell, 

And ye to their stronger intrenchments pursued, 
In the mouth of their mines the fight ye renewed, 
Through batteries masked, through forest and dell, 
On and on, 
O could ye have won ! 
For long ye fought and bravely and well ! 

Fierce, fierce was the carnage ! And mad with its smell 
The enemy's horse ! How their charge ye withstood 
Till the dead lay around you for many a rood ! 
All that ye did shall proud history tell ! 
How on and on, 
If the field might be won, 
Long ye fought, and bravely and well ! 



248 WAR POEMS. 



How smote every blade like the sledge of Mattel! — 
And as your heart's love grim Battle ye wooed, 
When Davis rode forth on his charger milk-hued, 
Death on the pale-horse and followed by hell ! — 
How on and on, 
If the field might be won, 
Long ye fought and bravely and well ! 

Toll for the heroes a sorrowful knell ! 

Toll for the brave men scattered and strewed, 
On the field of Manassas, like leaves in the wood ! 
With weeds drape the altar and muffle the bell ! 
On and on ! 

They should have won ! 
For long they fought and bravely and well ! 

Mingle your sorrows peasant and belle ! 

Bride doff forever your vail and your snood ! 
Fresh orphanhood and fresh widowhood ! 
Woe chasing woe with an unebbing swell ! 
On and on, 

If the field were not won, 
Long they fought and bravely and well ! 

Though lost was the field — though disaster befel 
Our forces, the Union can not be subdued ! 
War ! war ! till the foe shall for mercy have sued ! 
War ! war ! evermore ! against all who rebel ! 
On and on, 
Till the field be won, 
On like the brave at Manassas who fell ! 



THE WAR. 249 



Blood for blood ! from the heart's inner cell, 
Vow and prayer is — blood for blood ! 
Justice and vengeance — the hopes of the good — 
And the cries of the wronged, the prayer compel ! 
Then on and on, 
Till all be won, 
And they be avenged at Manassas who fell ! 

A modest scholar at the Council Board, 

An unobtrusive, quiet gentleman, 
When the war came he woke his sleeping sword, 

And rode the soldier foremost in the van, 

From lip to lip in admiration ran, 
How he, the hero of the German war 

Skilful in fight and masterly in plan, 
Unostentatious all his honors bore, 
Till Carthage ! Then he shone all that he was before ! 

The gush of grief that followed when we knew 

Our Lyon slain, is past —but not the gloom 
Tartarean into which our hearts withdrew ! — 

Still would our sorrow linger round his tomb ! 

The sword reversed, the pall, the drooping plume, 
The solemn music, and the measured tread 

Of mourners — fitting all— for they inhume 
Not the dead warrior only — but the dead 
Hopes of our hearts sink with him to his narrow bed ! 

The cressets of Night in the Heavens grew dim, 
And Dawn was impearling the orient's rim, 
And Morn from her sapphire embattlements threw 
Her banner of glory — the red, white and blue. 



250 WAR POEMS. 



And then marshaled Lyon his hosts for the fray, 
And they pressed to the field in the youth of the day ; 
And proudly they waved as the foe came in view, 
Their banner of glory — the red, white and blue. 

O flag of our country — still proudly it waves 
'Mid rattle of muskets and clashing of glaives ! 
On heroes ! nor falter, while floats over you 
Your banner of glory — the red, white and blue ! 

The soldiers are halting — their leader is gone ! — 
"I'll lead you," shouts Lyon, and beckons them on, 
And falls ! Waved there never o'er bosom more true, 
The banner of glory — the red, white and blue ! 

Hurrah ! for the rebels and traitors have flown, 
Hurrah for the Union ! the day is our own ! 
And Springfield has blazoned with radiance new 
Our banner of glory — the red, white and blue ! 

What shall the end be ? Either we restore 

The Union to its status, but more free — 
Stronger, more glorious than it was before 

Or be the slaves that we deserve to be ! 

Yet dream not that the struggle brief shall be 
If perishes this mighty Union — rife 

With living and organic liberty ! 
Motes die unnoted : but the mortal strife 
Of dying gods must be commensurate with their life. 

Our Union must not perish — for therein 
All hope is culminate : the blood and toil 

Of good men for two hundred years has been 
Spent without stint for us : our common soil, 



THE WAR. 251 



Race, language, interest, at length must foil 
The Demon Treason ! — when shall round him twine 

Relentless the great Anaconda's coil ! 
Lo ! where God writes upon the crystalline 
Secession's destiny in yonder waning sign ! 

THE COMET. 

CTAR, that comest with sword of flame, 
^ What is thy mission? "I come to dare 

To deadly battle the Northern Bear ; 
I come for victory and fame ! 

"Across the heavens I stretch my sword, 

And the constellations of the North 

Are trembling at my coming forth, 
And soon shall they own me for their lord ! " 

Star, that comest with sword of flame, 

A vaunter and a braggart thou art ! 

Thou comest with boasting, but thou shalt depart 
In a few brief days, in haste and shame ! 

Little in substance and great in show, 
And fading in luster, and hasting away 
Like a frightened ghost in the morning grey — 

Type of secession ! to Hades go ! 

But the stars in the blue shall shine and shine 
As in the past ! — No cycles of time 
Shall pale them ! Secure, serene, sublime! — 

Submissive to law — law-giving — divine ! 



252 WAR POEMS. 



EUROPEAN RECOGNITION. 

T^ROM slimy swamps dismal with trailing moss, 
From gloomy forests dark with boding pines, 
From glades that baleful elves aye flit across, 

Where venomed snake with venomed snake intwines. 

Where scorpions fester in the teeming earth, 
And buzzards crowd the pestilential sky, 

A thing of monstrous and unnatural birth, 
To old world tyrants sends a piteous cry. 

Secession's whelp ! although its senses are 

Scarce quickened yet, discerns the kindred signs, 

Instinctive knows its congeners afar, 
Instinctive for their recognition whines. 

The British ogress ! who hath drank the blood 
Of myriads slain in mines and factories, 

Who waters India with a crimson flood, 

And tramps unpitying on the poor Chinese, — 

Whose lying lips bewail the negro's wrongs, — 
Hypocrite ! had she ne'er a part therein ? 

Whom Ireland curses with unnumbered tongues — 
In her the bastard state discerns its kin ! 

The despot who, to gain the Gallic crown, 

In patriotic blood his saber dyed ; 
Who thrust, relentless, virgin Freedom down, 

And rules through perjury and parricide, — 



MO NOD T FOR S. A. DOUGLAS. 253 

The new-world monster marks the whetted jaw, 
And bloodshot eye, and visage stern and grim, 

Admires his hate of liberty and law, 

And knows its like and counterpart in him ! 

So seeks its recognition. Let them join ! 

Like must to like. Together let them fall ! 
We rest reliant on our cause divine, 

With God and Freedom stronger than them all. 



MONODY FOR S. A. DOUGLAS! 

r^EATH chose a fitting time 

To seal that forehead with his chrism ! 
In manhood's sheen and prime, 

Dead ! — with the words of patriotism 
Still burning on his lips ! 
Ah ! Now his fame can suffer no eclipse ! 
It was a destiny sublime ! 

He saw his native land 

In mortal conflict with her foes, 

And rose 
Serene and grand 

Above the strife 

That marked his stormy life, — 
Above the partizan 
The patriot rose, the Statesman, and the Man ! 

In that pure atmosphere 

His soul found true repose — 
Found there her home at last, 
And rising still she from our vision passed, 
O glorious close, 
And fitting to his radiant career ! 



254 WAR POEMS. 



TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

March 31, 1S62. 

IV TAN of the hour ! I pause and gaze on thee 

As on some statue, by the sculptor wrought — 
That stands the symbol of the Deity, 
Serene above the multitude distraught. 

How great is goodness ! what is all the art 

Of statesmanship ! O what are place and power ! 

What massy grandeur shows the honest heart 
That guards the nation in this stormy hour ! 

Thine the rough greatness of some granite cliff, 

Beneath whose guard the clustering hamlets sleep, 
Itself unmoved if smile the sun or if 

Its furrowed brow the angry tempests sweep ! 

Therefore thy words are freedom's : — such the breeze 
Born from the mountains, is and aye must be ! 

So Scot and Swiss, Hungarian, Tyrolese, 
And Tennessean, mountain-born, are free ! 

As turn the travelers in some Alpine pass 
Enraptured to the Jungfrau, and behold 

Nor crag, nor cliff, nor cavern, nor crevasse : 
But crystal sheen alone, and burnished gold : 

So, past its peril, shall the nation turn 

To thee, and see thy glory from afar, 
Nor shall thy human blemishes discern, 

But brightness that shall pale the morning star ! 



HOW LONG, O GOD! 255 



DAY-BREAK. 

'T^HE golden-pinioned breezes lift 

The incubus from Liberty ! 
The morning breaks ! The storm-clouds drift 
Tumultuous to the southern sea ! 

In their Cimmerian depths immersed 
Their thunders rage, self-ruinous ; 

And from their ragged fringes burst 
The storms that lately threatened us. 

Beneath where blaze their lightnings down 
Blood red, alas ! the torrents run, 

And strong men strew the thickets brown 
Of Henry and of Donaldson ! 

O vainly to yon bastioned isle 

The clouds are anchored strong and fast ! 
The North-wind steeds but breathe the while, 

And fate is certain — first or last. 

The North-wind sweeps o'er Number Ten : 
Their holds the hosts of darkness flee : 

And in the sunshine smile again 
The villages of Tennessee ! 



HOW LONG. O GOn{ 

TTOW long, O God, now Jong 
Shall Might the giant be 
The henchman of the wrong ? 
The soldiers of our free republic pine 
Chained, wan, in rags, and starving and in prison 



256 WAR POEMS. 



As if the Lord had not arisen 

The leader and the champion of the free ! 
We and our cause are thine, 

And yet our foes are desperate and strong ! 

How long, O God, how long! 

How long, O God, how long 

Delays the jubilee 
Of prophecy and song ! 
The poor slaves, half embrutened, watch its sign 

As beasts in winter watch the tempest's warring, 
Not proud, but meek and uncomplaining, 

Or only uttering their complaint to thee ! 
They and their cause are thine ! 

And yet their foes are desperate and strong ! 
How long, O God, how long ! 

How long, O God, how long 
Shall earth rock like the sea ! 

How long our homes among 

Shall Fear and Hate shed influence malign, 
And Battle's maddened devotees assemble, 
And wife and mother watch and tremble 

Lest ere the night fall they shall hopeless be ! 
We and our cause are thine ! 

And yet our foes are desperate and strong ! 

How long, u God, how long ! 



PITTSBURG. 257 



PITTSBURG. 



w 



HEN honor calls, it is not much to yield 
Our sons — our brothers ! We can see them die, — 
If they but perish in the open field, — 
Whether be ours defeat or victory ! 



Welcome for them an enemy who draws, 

As they, cool, self-possessed, and undismayed — 

Trusting in God, his weapon, and his cause — 
And meets his manly foeman blade to blade ! 

But when, hyena-like, the savage creeps 
With velvet step upon our unarmed men, 

And butchers them defenceless, heaps on heaps, 
We grudge the holocaust to carnage then. 

Blister the lips that speak of cowardice ! 

Who fled the field ? Whose dead unearthed are seen ? 
The powdered rum shows where the blenching is 

And whose the courage of the charged canteen. 

Paeons to them who painful vigils keep 

With honored wounds upon a couch of pain ; 

Peace to the brave on Shiloh's field that sleep, 
Their name — their memory without a stain ! 

The blood root shall a richer ichor shed, 

Where spun the streams from slaughter's gory spur, 
The bath flower ope its blossoms pale and red 

From paler cheeks and pools far ruddier. 



258 WAR POEMS. 



Above their sacred graves — the soil they trod, 
The oaks shall weave them garlands evermore ! 

The river yearly rise and kiss the sod 

Where they their ensign to new glory bore ! 



ANTIETAM. 

/^LEAVING their way with bomb-shell and blade, 
Cleaving their way through the wooded ravines, 
Cleaving their way by battle and raid, 
Devils by instinct and tyrants by trade, 

Bring to the border their human machines ! 

Barefooted dirt-eaters bred from the sands, 

Drafted unwillingly into the ranks, 
Squatters and trash from the slaveholders' lands, 
Fiends, with the kidnapper's stain on their hands, 

Drive back our front and environ our flanks ! 



Shame to our soldiers to scatter from these ! 

Never should manhood succumb to such foe ! 
Sweep to the southward these cullings and lees ! 
Minions and pimps of slave breeding grandees — 

Drift from the Stygian lakes overflow ! 

Over the border the spawn throngs as when 

Frogs from the Nile became Pharoah's curse ! 
Poor doomed Hagerstown ! Children of Penn, 
If ever these pests pass the river again, 
Ye are deserving your fate and worse ! 



ANTIETAM. 259 



Glory ! The hosts are advancing ! the tramp 
Of hoofs is heard, and the clank of steel ! 

The foe in haste is removing his camp ! 

The pitcher of Gideon breaks ! and the lamp 
Of the hero shines on the commonweal ! 

Glory ! the thunder of rifled guns ! 

Glory ! the hissing and bursting of shell ! 
Charge down the mountain, Columbia's sons 
Glory ! the enemy runs ! he runs ! 

As the rebel angels rushed to hell ! 

Hark to the stallions that terrified neigh ! 

Hark ! they are mad with the scent of blood ! 
Hark ! to the charge the trumpets bray 
And the steel-edged lines move on their way, 

Like angel hosts sweeping the guilty flood ! 

Piles upon piles the enemy lies, 

Piles upon piles our soldiers lie, 
The woods of Antietam are shaken with sighs 
Of him who is wounded and him who dies, 

But God hath given us victory ! 

Nobly, O nobly, our soldiers have done ! 

Back to the slave marts the soul dealers fly ! 
Back to the sand hills the dirt-eaters run 
Over the river in haste they have gone ! 

And God hath given us victory ! 



260 WAR POEMS. 



AN INVITATION. 

T)Y the memory of olden deeds heroic which our 

•^ sires 

Shared together, sung in golden verse and breathed 

by conscious lyres, 
By the glorious lakes and wolden, where they lighted 

freedom's fires, 
Where they fought and where they rested in the 

mighty bivouac 
Leave your heresy detested ! and to loyalty turn back ! 

We'll forget your broken honor ! We'll forget that 

you've forsworn, 
All the wrong that you have done our country that 

you've rent and torn, 
How you've pierced and placed upon her bleeding 

brow the crown of thorn ! 
We'll forget your mad attempt to cast the fane of 

freedom down ! 
We'll forget that e'er you dreamt to build your bastard 

state thereon. 

We'll forget your mad endeavor to roll back the wheels 
of time, 

And to curse the land forever with your statute-sanc- 
tioned crime, 

Crime whose parallel was never since the earth was in 
its prime ! 

We'll forgive your oaths unholy, and your perjury of 
soul, 

Your iniquity and folly — we will overlook the whole ! 



AN INVITATION. 26 1 

We'll forget the deeds inhuman that were at Manassas 
done, 

Bedlam gifts for maddened woman — amulets of finger 
bone, 

Sculls that sight did once illumine rasped with steel 
and pumice stone, 

Baskets rich with ivory molar from a wounded Yan- 
kee's gum, 

Wrested from the alveolar ere he went to Kingdom 
Come, 

Not shall Sumter's fortress burning, not the flames 

of Lexington ; 
Not the sorrowful inuring, here of husband, here of 

son ; 
Not the orphaned eyes upturning to the Just and 

Holy One : 
Waken anger to our faces ! We will shut our eyes and 

ears, 
And will wash the bloody traces from the blushing 

earth with tears ! 

Not the ice of deep December shall be colder than 
our ire, 

Blows no wind shall wake an ember, stronger love 
shall quench its fire : 

We are brothers, we'll remember, children of a com- 
mon sire ! 

Buried be our ancient grudges ! Burn our fresh-lit 
hatreds dim ! 

What be we that we be judges ? Vengeance be alone 
to Him ! 



262 WAR POEMS. 



Not in sternness unrelenting will we turn away from 

you; 
Could you turn but half repenting, all our love would 

gush anew, 
You should find our hearts inventing ways to let the 

flood rush through ! 
Were we pure as alabaster, and no debt against us 

scored, 
We be scholars of the Master, we be servants of the 

Lord! 



TO THE NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS. 

TDLOSSOM, that to the Night alone 

Unbosomest thy purity, 
Each princely star stoops from his throne 
To catch a nearer glimpse of thee. 

And dreaming Earth, her breast impearled 
With thee, her dearest gem would keep, 

Thou daughter of the upper world, 
And clingeth to thee in her sleep. 

And human eyes, that know the stars 

And beauteous earth, still turn to thee — 

And darkness lifts, and Hope unbars 
The future, where her treasures be. 

O native land, would that there might 
Some star of earth or heaven illume 
Thy darkness, and that on thy night 

Some flower of Hope again might bloom. 



FREDERICKSB UR G. 263 



FREDERICKSBURG. 
n^HE Rappahannock's swollen track 

No more can hold our soldiers back ; 
Not they who ne'er a danger shunned, 
Shrink at the guarded heights beyond ; 
Nor fear to cross the plain below, 
Swept by the cannon of the foe ; 
Each belching from its paunch defiled 
A flood to swallow a man child ! — 
Nor fear the rebel marksmen keen, 
Who haunt each thicket and ravine ; 
Who lie their rifle pit amid, 
And by yon broken wall are hid ; 
Who to a Union soldier were 
More dangerous and deadlier 
Than their own symbol in the brake, 
The reptile fiend — the rattlesnake ! 

Our braves go o'er the stream ! Alack 

For thousands cross to ne'er come back ! 

O heavy hang the clouds and grey 

For victory is not ours to-day ! 

There needs not rain, for tears and blood 

Shall drench the earth with ample flood ! 

The clouds are wearing shroud and pall — 

To-day — to-day our soldiers fall, 

As in the Mississippi's brink 

The flooded forests plunge and sink ! 

Yet fear they not to fight and fall 
At duty's and their country's call ! 



264 WAR POEMS. 



And goes brigade upon brigade 

As gaily as if on parade ; 

Not blindly, but intelligent 

Of all they stake in the event ; 

Attent to what the leader saith, 

The heroes march the march of death ! 

Though hissing shot and shrieking shell 
Rend the thick air like fiends from hell, 
And through the compact masses rush 
As hurricane through brake and bush, 
Yet, 'mid the storm and carnage thick, 
The broad crevasses close as quick 
As close the ocean's parted lips 
Upon the wake of passing ships ! 
Their groaning comrades strew the heath, 
Yet on they march the march of death ! 

O mothers ! be ye proud that runs 
Your dearest blood in these your sons ! 
O wives ! be proud if at your knees 
Prattle and climb the sons of these ! 
O maidens ! by these heroes wooed, 
Glory in this their martyrhood ! 
O Earth, be proud ! for men ne'er trod 
Thy breast ere this more like to God ! 
And heaven ne'er saw to it arise 
A more ennobling sacrifice ! 
With God above and self beneath 
They grandly march the march of death ! 

They charge ! they charge ! or hope inspires, 
Or furious desperation fires ! 



ARKANSAS POST. 265 

They beat against the enemy 

As on the dark rocks beats the sea! 

Their ranks are shattered in the shock, 

As is the surge upon the rock! 

And yet not unavenged they fall, 

For many a blade and many a ball 

With traitor's blood is dripping wet ! - — 

And many a loyal bayonet 

Finds in a rebel heart its sheath, 

Ere end our braves the march of death ! 

Forever cherish we their name, 

They passed above in cloud and flame ! 

Far better thus than rot and die 

Upon the Chickahominy ! 

Better than slow delay, which is 

The near akin to cowardice ! 

Their eyes grew dim, and brighter grew 

Those terraced heights before their view ! 

Upward and upward rose the stair, 

For Glory placed her ladder there ! 

And Honor gave her starry wreath 

To them who marched the march of death ! 



ARKANSAS POST. 



/^VUR eastern lines no more advance, 

Our troops draw back from Vicksburg height, 
Alone with noble Rosecranz 

Our stars still blaze triumphant light, 



266 WAR POEMS. 



Now, brave McClernand, is the hour! 

Smite, and at once, the rebel host ! 
Free all the west, and crush the power 

Concentered at Arkansas Post ! 

The traitors fear no danger near ; 

Our troops are worn and miles away ; 
But not too far nor worn they are 

To smite a foe or join a fray. 

They force the hostile wilderness, 

The sky their tent their couch the ground, 

Through swamp and bayou on they press 
And gird the rebel bastion round, 

With thunder booms and screeches harsh, 
Now through the air the bomb-shells ride ; 

Shot echoes shot, from wood and marsh, 
From gun-boat and from river side ! 

And step by step the foe gives way ! 

And step by step our men come on ! 
One charge ! Hurra ! Hurra ! the day 

Is ours ! Hurra ! the fort is won ! 

The white flag waves ! No longer flaunt 
The signs of treason, and of shame ! 

Up mount the stars ! — irradiant 
With glory and eternal fame ! 

Hail to McClernand ! — who in spite 
Of orders, fought ! A man is he, 

Who dare for country and for right 
To take responsibility ! 



THE REBEL'S HTENA SONG. 267 

The martinets of formal war 

Such ready prowess may dislike ; 
West Point may vote irregular 

The way our rough backwoods-men strike ! — 

So does the foe ! He has a dread 

Lest rules and forms be overset ! 
So has the sneaking copperhead 

Of Lincoln and of Lafayette ! 

But we have praise and laurel bays 

For him who dare a crisis know, 
Whose loyal word or loyal sword, 

Lawless or lawful, smites the foe ! 



THE REBEL'S HYENA SONG. 



A 



GIFT for the fairest ! No Indian shawl, 
The choice of an orient merchant's stall, 
No mountain of light from the mines of Brazil, 
O no, I have something more delicate still ! 
The daintiest gift for the one I know 
Is a breastpin carved from a Yankee's toe ! 

No curious locket of work unique, 
No odorous casket, no vase antique, 
No pearls, no bracelet with gems inset, 
No gossamer vail, no pendants of jet. 
The daintiest gift for the one I know 
Is a breastpin made of a Yankee's toe ! 



268 WAR POEMS. 



loveliest one ! when the time is full 

1 will pledge my bride from a Yankee's scull ! 
On her neck she shall bear his teeth astring ! 
And I'll place on her finger a shin bone ring ! 
And her bosom white shall heave and glow, 
Neath a breastpin made of a Yankee's toe ! 



OF ARMING THE SLAVES! 

A RMS for the slaves ! Let all be set 
^* To drive the traitors from the land ! 
If needed let a bayonet 

Be placed in every loyal hand ! 

The choice of our Circassian blood 
We pour like water ! It is wise ! 

To save the land there is and could 
Not be too great a sacrifice ! 

And is the negro's life so dear 
It may not be for freedom spent ? 

Or be we mad that we revere 

That slavery that our country rent ! 

The negro is too low ? Shall pride 
Destroy our country ? Be we fools ? 

Too low ? — do we not fight beside 
Our very horses and our mules ? 

Whoever is my country's foe — 

Whoever is untrue to her, 
There is no menial hind too low 

To be his executioner ! 



THE PIC-NIC. 269 



Nay, he who is a man within, 
Who truly plays a patriot's part, 

Is better in a dusky skin 

Than any with a traitor's heart ! 

The meanest of the race of Ham 

Is higher upon Honor's list 
Than traitorous Vallandigham, 

Or any vile secessionist ! 

Arm the black hand ! Or else our doom 
Awaits us, and a Paschal morn, 

When shall be heard in every home 
A wailing for the eldest born ! 

Let the black hand secession stun — 
And strike the latest rebel dead ! 

And the black heel to dust crush down 
The rattlesnake and Copperhead ! 



THE PIC-NIC. 

/^vNE day to pleasure ! In the crowded wains, 
^-^ That with our laughter shake, 
We skim the rail, as the low flying cranes 
Skim o'er the reedy lake. 

Farewell the city with its dust and din ! 

Hail to the glad green woods ! 
That offer shade and couch and song within 

Their grassy solitudes ! 



270 WAR POEMS. 



The steam car shrieks and pauses, and the crowd 

Gurgles upon the earth 
Gorgeous and blithe, as if an evening cloud 

Brake in a ripple's mirth ! 

The music calls : adown the grassy slopes 

The gay procession winds : 
The grove is reached : and Mirth his treasure opes, 

And each a jewel finds. 

Some swarm the rope, and seek uneasy bliss 

In Copenhagen rude : 
In gathering nectar from the willing kiss 

Of the mixed multitude. 

Some throng the oft replenished cask in which 

For all athirst is mead, 
Icy and fragrant, generous and rich, 

The luscious lemonade ! 

Some weave gay measures to the witching tone 

Of pipe and violin : 
Some pensive wander on the hills alone, 

Or sit the dells within ! 

Some rest in quiet groups beneath the shade 

And plait the oaken leaf, 
And crown their foreheads with the comely braid : 

Honor how fair and brief ! 

Some older and more grave with thoughtful brow, 

Talk of the jarring state — 
Of fell revolt — of homes once happy, now 

Blasted and desolate ! 



THE SORCERESS. 27 1 

O cursed war, that e'er to the delight 

Of youth dost sorrow bring ! 
O slavery that on all things casts the blight 

Of crime and suffering ! 

Come star-crowned Night ! Come heavy-lidded Sleep ! 

Our weary spirits bless ! 
And sport and grief both bosom in the deep 

Wave of forgetfulness ! 

Come rather Thou, Divinest, in whose hand 

Are all things small and great, 
Teach us, wherein we can not understand, 

To trust, and watch, and wait. 



THE SORCERESS. 

T TNDER the dwarfed palmetto tree, 

^ Wrinkled and warped and sear is she, 

The sorceress sitteth by the sea 

Muttering her grim litany 

Of imprecation and curse and ban 

On all that fight for Liberty 
And for the rights of man ! 

Droning a litany of hell, 

To which the dismal chorus is 
The prisoner's groan, the bondsmen's moan, 
The thwack of the scourge, the rattlesnake's hiss 

The sorceress sitteth by the sea, 
Her hair grows white and her arm grows thin, 
And the wrinkles crimp her yellow skin, 
But the shark's teeth shine her mouth within, 
And her fish grey eyes give a glare like tin, 



272 WAT? POEMS. 



And she gloats on the thought of her horrible sin, 
And droning her litany of hell, 
She weaves a spell, 
Deftly and well, 
Braided of seaweed and knotted with shell ! 
And the copperheads creep among the leaves, 
Watching her fingers as she weaves, 
Mimicking every braid of hers, 

Back and forth, and forth and back 
Follow they the sinuous track — 

They wind and wind, 
Until the black 
And loathsome knot of treason is twined. 

Once she was young and fair, and then 

She gave to the beauty and bloom of youth 
The beauty and bloom of justice and truth ; 
But the lust of gold has come with time, 
And she hath wedded her age to crime, 

And she is the scoff and scorn of men. 

O sorceress singing by the sea 
Chuckle no more in fiendish glee 
All thy charms have faded away 
Power is henchman to justice to-day 

On the island sands 

The fortress stands 
Ancle deep in the ocean spray 

But no more over 
Its mounds can treason's banner hover 

And thou shalt strain 

Thine eyes in vain 
That impious standard to discover 



THE SORCERESS. 273 

The starred flag leaps in the salted air 
Over the sons of freedom there. 
For Freedom from her snowy tents 

Over the yeasty bay has come 

Gliding lightly over the foam 
And leaped upon the battlements ! 
Rosy daughter of the skies, 
She waves her flag in the bracing air 
Over the sons of Freedom there, 
But waves aloft her saber bare, 

And from her eyes 
Flashes defiance to her enemies ! 

Wagner is lost and Gregg no more 
Keeps the avenger from the shore, 

And comes to wave on Sumter's wall 
The crown he wore in days of yore 
The flag of Freedom your hate and dread 

And Sumter stoops his kingly head 
To receive again the coronal. 

The sorceress wakes from her dream of sin 
For over head the bombshells spin, 
And they fall her votaries amid 
And they fall where her teraphim are hid 
Among her soldiers armed and strong 
And where the weak in terror throng 
And streets and temples and homes among : 
Shells curse laden and belching flame 
For He hath gathered the men of the north 
And He hath armed and sent them forth 
Whose Vengeance never misses its aim ! 



274 WAR POEMS. 



Poor blind dupe of self and hell 

The sorceress weaves a snare for her feet 

And she weaves herself a winding sheet 

When she weaves her spell 

Deftly and well 
Braided of seaweed and knotted with shell. 

Poor blind dupe of self and hell 
Froth and fume and rant and rate 
Dote and mumble and drivel and prate 
Gnash and gnaw and grind and grate 
Scold and curse and imprecate 
In aimless rage and impotent hate 
Helpless must thou poor crone await 
But wait not long thy hurrying fate 
For the iron fleet at the ocean gate 

Shall burn thy palace and blast thy state 

Shall leave thee charred and desolate ! 

Till the fiends that make thy souls their spoil 

Shall think they tread their native soil 

Black as the grim and midnight pit 

That Sumter was when thou winnest it : 

And then that sea girt Colosseum 

Shall render anthem from pennon and bomb 

The sea shall shout the glad Te Deum 

" Io ! The Jubilee is come ! " 
And the souls of them that for the right 

Have won a hero's martyrdom 

Heroes all — or black or white — 
Shall look down from their crystal height — 
And in the music of bugle and drum 

Feel again their old delight ! 

But the snake shall be torpid, and cold and numb, 



THANKSGIVING HYMN. 275 

To poison no more the air of night 
No more with cold eye's glare to fight 

And the lips of the sorceress shall be dumb, 
And cold and blue as with mildew blight, 

And the good and true shall bury the twain 
Snake and sorceress out of sight 

No more to befoul the air again ! 
And their burial place shall with salt be strown 
That never may plant of health grow there 

But it shall be forever bare 
Or but with poisonous weeds alone 

Black and clammy and deadly o'ergrown. 



THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
1863. 

f~\ GOD, thy children hither come, 
^^^ But not — not as of old they came : 
The gathered circle of the home, 

Is here, but not — ah ! not the same ! 

The grand-sire and the grandame come 
The mothers and their little ones, 

Concealing their hearts' martyrdom 
For absent sires and absent sons. 

Their hearts with love and sorrow fraught 
Would to thy sacred feet draw near ; 

They bring their vows, but they have not 
Their altar nor their offering here. 



2^6 WAR POEMS. 



No altar their' s of stone and wood, 
No fruit of vine or fold they bring, 

Their altar is the field of blood, 
Husbands and sons their offering. 

And yet in gratitude they lift 

Their prayers for this — the noblest land, 
Rejoiced to bring so great a gift 

For her — a sacrifice so grand. 



THE PRICE OF PEACE. 
\\ 7HAT was the price we paid for peace? 

Women and children weighed with gold 
Innocent babes and christian wives, 
Body and spirit, thews and lives ; 
Virgins of virtue and perfect mold — 
God ! at the thought the blood runs cold, 
Chaffered for, bid for, bought, and sold ! — 
And this without surcease ! 

What was the price we paid for peace ? 
Never to have the Capitol 

Free from the slaver's lash and law, 
Free for the heart and lip to thaw ; 
Never to have in either hall 
Uttered by men of manly speech, 
All that the Bible and reason teach — 
And this without surcease. 

What was the price we paid for peace ? 
Ever corruption creeping in 

Warping our conscience from the good, 
Breeding a race of mongrel blood : 



FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE. 2jy 

Ever becoming more akin 
Unto the wronged in hue and skin, 
Unto the wronger in his sin, 
And this without surcease ! 

What was the price we paid for peace ? 

Bibles pervert and pulpits dumb, 

Freemen hunting — may God forgive — 
Hunting the self-freed fugitive, 

Laws to exclude the negro from 

Every gleam of millenium, 

Every hope of Christ to come. 
And this without surcease. 

Such was the price we paid for peace ! 
Better the fiery tides of war, 

Better our maids should die unwed, 
Better be bridal robes blood red, 
Better be mothers weeping o'er 
Sons that in agony they bore, 
Better be suffering evermore, 
Than crime without surcease. 



THE CALL FOR FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND 

MORE. 

1864. 

HE northern clarion rings again 
And answering hosts of northern men, 
With hearts of fire and arms of steel 
Rise to defend the commonweal ! 



T 



2?8 WAR POEMS. 



On every village green appears 

The little squad of volunteers. 

Nor now as once, alone the fair — 

With Saxon and with Celt is there, 

The freeman in his dusky skin ; 
Glad to avenge his injured race, 
At once he takes the proffered place, 

And shows he has a soul within ! 
O traitors ! blush ye not, to think 

That these whom ye have made your thralls, 
Whom ye have scorned as but a link 

Somewhere twixt men and animals, 
Should in emergencies like these 
Exhibit manlier qualities 
Than e'en the best of you possess ! — 
A noble self-forgetf ulness ! — 
Such love of country as you had 
Before you were secession mad ! — 
Such love of freedom as you ne'er 
Had e'en when at your best you were : — 
Courage the equal of your own — 
Your own whose special pride it is 
To boast no taint of cowardice ! — 

No English yeomen in the hour 

Of Cressy or of Agincourt, 

More heroism could have shown, 

Than the brave blacks who met their end, 

At Hudson and at Milliken's Bend ! 

Swell high, O northern surge ! as strong 

As the huge streams that drive along 
The icebergs from the polar sea ! 
Woe to the ship whose destiny, 



SONG. 



2/9 



Or foolish pilot brings its path 
Too near that iceberg in its wrath ! 

Woe to the hapless mariner 

Who, doomed, has risked his life in her ! 



SONG. 

T17HEN Secessionists and rebels by Jeff. Davis were 

misled, 
And sought that Union to destroy for which our 

Fathers bled, 

Good Abram Lincoln thought it wrong to part whom 

nature wed, 
The people chose him President, and thus their ballots 
said: 

" Lincoln, link on 
The States to the Union ! " 

"Link on," said he to Scott and Grant, "your 

companies and squads, 
Link on your regiments of braves who fear to face no 

odds, 
Link on your arms beneath the battle flag that o'er 

you nods, 
Link on, link on, ye heroes, for your country's cause 

and God's." 

Lincoln, link on 
The States to the Union. 

" Link on," said he to Welles, " your iron armor to your 

ships," 
"Link on," said he to Chase, "your greenbacks and 

your treasury chips, 



28o WAR POEMS. 



" Link on," said he to Seward, " if you can with 

friendly grips, 
Those foreign chaps, if not we'll fight, and he'll be 
best who whips ! " 

Lincoln, link on 
The States to the Union. 

The good work given him so well the President has done, 
That all link on Abe Lincoln's name to that of Wash- 
ington ! 
O nobly shall he end the war secessionists begun ! 
Hurra, hurra, for Lincoln, and our land forever one ! 
Lincoln, link on 
The States to the Union. 

And then brave boys when we have whipped the traitors 

and once more, 
Shall peace and freedom reign from ocean shore to 

ocean shore, 
We'll link on to the maidens dear whose love we won 

of yore, 
And rest secure from the alarms and from the toils of 

war! 

Lincoln, link on 
The States to the Union. 



THE MURDERER. 

t^O — thou art free — thou that didst lift 
^^ Thy hand against our mother's life, 
Thy life — it is that mother's gift, 

Go — fear not the assassin's knife. 
Our mother has no son so base : 

We leave that to a lower race ! 



THE MURDERER. 28 1 

And yet, the scaffold is too good 
For traitors such as thou hast been, 

And yet the viper's poisonous blood 
Should but pollute the guillotine 

And yet the hangman's hand would smutch 
And blacken at thy guilty touch ! 

Yes thou art free, if such as thou, 

Canst aught of pleasure find, 'tis thine ; 

Howe'er we judge thee, we would now 
Leave vengeance to the One Divine : 

We say not anything to add 

Unto the suffering thou hast had. 

O fallen, fallen ! Morning Star ! 

To think of what thou mightst have been ! 
We look upon the heights afar 

Where the untempted walk serene! 
Great God ! That of the creatures be 

One equal to such infamy ! 

Go ! If the viper with his kind 

Still consort keep, we hunt him not, 

And the hyena still may find 

Some desert place by man unsought. 

And they both would well beware 
The haunts where the avengers are ! 

When once our blood was hot, and we 

Were moaning for the newly slain, 
Then to have met our soldiery 

Yea, though thou bore the mark of Cain 
The signet of the Almighty would 

Have not restrained their thirst for blood. 



2S2 WAR POEMS. 



But they are cooler now — they have 
No tiger's thirst — but they are men 

As generous as they are brave, 

And would not cause a pang of pain 

Unneeded to the basest thin? 

That crawls the footstool of the king. 

Go — stand beside the countless graves 
At Gettysburg — go stand beside 

The island that the river laves 
But never with its cleansing tide, 

Though it should pour tenfold a flood 
Can wash therefrom the stain of blood ! 

Go back to Richmond where thou satst, 
As sits in Tophet, Satan crowned, 

And with thy unconquerable hate, 
Hurl thy despotic mandates round : 

And let the prison walls rehearse 
Into thine ear the prisoners' curse ! 

If that indeed thou canst repent, 
Go, kneel thou by the grave of Him, 

The noble, martyred, President ! 

And pray that thou mayst be forgiven 

Of country, and the Dead, and Heaven ! 
Nor into outer darkness driven. 

Yet, ere thou go, look once upon 
The sorrow of that mother's face — 

Look on the flag thou tramplest down — 
The stars thy madness would displace, 

Look on the glory of the land 

That thou didst blast with sword and brand ! 



JAN. n, i86j, 3 O'CLOCK, P. M. 283 

What thou hast been she will not think, — 
What thou art now she asks thee not, — 

Yea, and will never break the link 

That nature at the birth time wrought, — 

And she remembers thou wast once 
Among the number of her sons. 



JAN. II, 1865, 3 O'CLOCK P. M. 

A LLELUIA to God ! Missouri is free ! 

Bear ! — bear the glad tidings o'er mountain and sea! 
Shout hills ! on whose brow rests a chrism of gore — 
Freedom's vow, by the bloody baptism of war ! 
Shout prairies that fold to your bosoms our braves ! 
Ye shall shrink never more from the footsteps of slaves ! 
Tis the fiat of God ! — the people's decree ! 
Missouri is free ! She is free ! she is free ! 

Blaze, bonfires blaze ! Your merriest peal 

Ring bells, and ring loud, for the glad commonweal ! 

No more shall our matrons be sold in mart, 

And the auctioneer's voice be the knife in their heart ! 

No more shall our maids wear the slave-dealer's chain ! 

No more shall they kneel to their masters in vain ! 

O Christ, the Consoler ! All glory to thee ! 

The prison door opes, and the captive is free ! 

O Christ the Consoler ! Thine — thine is the word, 

And this the acceptable year of the Lord ! 

No more shall the fugitive tremble in fear 

And crouch in the bush when the blood hound is near ! 



284 WAR POEMS. 



No more shall perversion of judgment compel 
A compact with death and a union with hell ! 
The prison door opens ! Lo God wields the key ! 
The captive — the bondsman — is free ! — he is free ! 
Where .skulks the guerilla ? Who fly to the South ? — 
As the wild fowl of Autumn — the stream to its mouth ! 
The blue coats pursue ! Ha ! rebel, for thou 
Who once chased the slave, art the fugitive now ! 
Shoot him down in his tracks, as a panther or wolf ! — 
Or with whirlwind of battle sweep into the gulf ! 
No room for the traitor here longer shall be ! 
Missouri is free ! Missouri is free ! 

The Celt and the Teuton the tidings shall learn 
Nor more from our borders in sadness shall turn. — 
From the slaveholder's couch — from the slaveholder's 

shame, 
From the slaveholder's gold vainly proffered to them, — 
Preferring a life of hardship and toil, 
'Neath heavens severer and steriler soil, — 
But come with their labor and blessing to thee, 
Missouri the free ! Missouri the free ! 

Missouri the free ! How thy prairies grow fat ! 
How the tasseled maize glints on the plains of the 

Platte ! 
How thy princes, the hills, are with purple y-clad ! 
How thy valleys with freedom and thrift are grown glad ! 
How thy wheels and the shafts of thy factories throb ! 
And the hammers pulse strong in the veins of the Knob ! 
Such — such shall thy happier destiny be, 
Missouri the free ! Missouri the free ! 



THE REPENTANT REBEL. 285 



THE REPENTANT REBEL. 

" A word with you, good minister, 
"^^ I know that I must die ; 
I thank you for your kindness, sir : 

God bless you, and good bye. 
I suffer, but it is not pain 

That makes me moan and start, 
Alas — alas, I bear the stain 

Of guilt upon my heart. 

"A wilful truant from my home, 

A wanderer I trod, 
Threefold a traitor to become, 

To mother, flag, and God : 
But now I swear allegiance new, 

With this uplifted hand, 
To God, — and mother dear, to you, — 

And to my native land ! 

" O could my mother come to me, 

Or could I go to her, 
I should not murmur then to be 

A wounded prisoner. 

mother — mother! — would these lips 
Could tell you I repent : — 

That you could know before I die, 
Your son is penitent ! 

" It seems so cold ! — so dark ! — how dark! 
Yet still to life I cling — 

1 heard my mother's voice ; — or hark ! 

An angel's rushing wing ! " 



286 WAR POEMS. 



" My son — my darling son ! " she cried; 

She stood within the tent : 
And in his mother's arms he died, 

A rebel penitent. 



GIVE ME BACK MY MISSING ONES. 

" CORROW, O sorrow ! 
^ After the battle 
They on the morrow, 

Lay with the wounded, 
Lay all neglected, 

Where the storm beat, 
All unprotected, 

Swept by the sleet ! 
Chorus: Never, never, never, 

Till death shall dissever 
Body and soul, 

Shall cease my wailing, 

Howe'er unavailing, 
Give me back my darling sons ! 
Give me back my missing ones ! 

" After the battle, 

Captured by rebels, 
Driven like cattle 

Were my poor darlings ! 
Better were prison 

Better were cell, 
Than Wirz's dead line, 

Than Wirz's hell! 



GIVE ME BACK MY MISSING ONES. 287 

Chorus: Never, never, never, 

Till death shall dissever 

Body and soul, 
Shall cease my wailing, 
Howe'er unavailing, 
Give me back my darling sons ! 
Give me back my missing ones ! 

" Ye that are kissing 

Your brave returned ones 
Find me my missing 

9 Mong thirteen thousand ! 
Never a head-stone ! 

Never a list ! 
Where are the lightnings ? 
Merciful Christ ! — 
Chorus : Never, never, never, 

Till death shall dissever 

Body and soul, 
Shall cease my wailing, 
Howe'er unavailing, 
Give me back my darling sons ! 
Give me back my missing ones ! 

" Be they forgiven 

While unrepentant ? — 
They who have driven 

Me unto madness ? 
God all eternal 

Blast them and shame 
To the infernal 

Dungeon of flame ! — 



288 WAR POEMS. 



Cliorus : Never, never, never, 

Till death shall dissever 

Body and soul, 
Shall cease my wailing, 
Howe'er unavailing, 
Give me back my darling sons ! 
Give me back my missing ones ! 



GIVE BACK MY MISSING ONES. 

TIER cheek was wan — her dress was worn 

Her face was strangely old, 
But the weird brightness of her eye 

A tale of sorrow told. 
And still she sang in low, sad tones, 
" O give me back my darling sons ! 
Give back — give back my missing ones !" 

She visited the Congress halls, 

She paced the White House round, 

She wandered through the hospitals 
And many a burial ground : 

And still she sang in low, sad tones, 

" O give me back my darling sons ! 

Give back — give back my missing ones ! " 

She stood beneath the frowning walls 

Of citadel Monroe, 
And begged to see the rebel chief, 

And tell her tale of woe. 
And still she sang in low, sad tones, 
"O give me back my darling sons ! 
Give back — give back my missing ones ! " 



GIVE BACK MT MISSING ONES. 289 

She stood upon the crowded streets, 

And watched the soldiers pass, 
And hope, and uttermost despair 

By turns were in her face. 
And still she sang in low, sad tones, 
" O give me back my darling sons ! 
Give back — give back my missing ones!" 

Beneath the flag she loved — her hands 

And face to heaven uplift — 
One winter morning dead she lay 

Enshrouded by the drift. 
No more she sings in low sad tones, 
" O give me back my darling sons," 
For she hath found her missing ones ! 



SONGS AND HYMNS. 



OUR LAND. 



/^UR land — it is our song, our prayer, 
^ The Lord shall make it his ! 
The joy of all the earth — how fair 
Her situation is ! 

When God her future shall unfold 
And place her throne on high, 

The mightiest monarch shall behold 
And haste in terror by. 

As have her husbandmen subdued 

The wildness of her soil 
Our God shall make our harvest good 

And well reward our toil. 

How beautiful her cities are 
By ocean, lakes and streams — 

Her goodly homes, her fertile farms — 
God's love upon them beams. 



SLEEP BOYS IN BLUE. 

/^OLD falls the dew, 
^ Bright stars now gleam, 
Brave boys and true, 
Sweetly they dream ! 



SLEEP BOTS IN BLUE. 29 1 



What though their graves 

Numberless be, — 

High waves the flag 

Over the free. 

Sleep boys in blue, 

And dream the dream through, 

Good night to your form, 

But good morn to your fame. 

Of them at home, 

Pale Sorrow speaks, 

And tears must come 

Oft to her cheeks ! 

Loving and long 

Angels enwreath 

Garlands and song ! 

Glorious death ! 

Sleep boys in blue, 

And dream the dream through, 

Good night to your form, 

But good morn to your fame. 

Some as ye fell 

Cannon defied ! 

Some in the cell 

Famished and died ! 

All, all shall rise, 

Spurning the sod, 

Up to the skies, 

Up to your God ! 

Sleep boys in blue, 

And dream the dream through, 

Good night to your form, 

But good morn to your fame. 



292 SONGS AND HYMNS. 

Cherish their fame, 

Blazon it high ! 

Suffer their name 

Never to die ! 

Heroes they fell ! 

Foemen to wrong ! 

Cherish it well ! 

Cherish it long ! 

Sleep boys in blue, 

And dream the dream through, 

Good night to your form, 

But good morn to your fame. 



DOWN BY THE OLD GARDEN GATE. 

"pvOWN by the old garden gate I stand, 
■^ Thinking of days gone by, 
When Mary took my offered hand, 

But could not lift her eye, 
For though my thought was uttered not, 

Her heart well knew its mate ! 

how divine a joy was mine 
Down by the old garden gate. 

" Fall into line for your native land ! " 
That was the cry that came, 

1 heard the call, my Mary, and 

It set my soul aflame ! 
Thy words of cheer, my Mary dear, 

Took from my breast its weight, 
In parting from my love and home, 

Down by the old garden gate. 



MISHA WAKA. 293 



Our noble corps fought through the war, 

From where brave Lyon fell, 
For dearer was our country's cause 

For them we loved so well : 
With Sherman we marched to the sea, 

Through the Palmetto state, 
But everywhere I saw thee there 

Down by the old garden gate. 

native land, forever stand ! 
My duty to thee done, 

1 came to meet with flying feet 

My own beloved one ! 
The orchard I came hurrying by, 

I knew that she would wait, 
And watch for me beneath the tree 

Down by the old garden gate. 

I hear the brides-maids laugh and talk, 

I see them through the pane, 
They now come down the graveled walk, 

The parson down the lane : 
An hour of bliss and joy is this! 

My heart is all elate, 
For Mary said we should be wed 

Down by the old garden gate. 



H 



MISHAWAKA. 
'AIL Him — whom every world obeys ! 
Our God ! Our refuge strong ! 
Our King ! — our lips shall sing his praise 
In a triumphant song! 



294 SONGS AND HYMNS. 

His presence with our fathers came : 

He led them o'er the sea ; 
His mighty hand upbuilded them, 

And made them strong and free ! 

'Twas He who gave us equal laws, 

And taught us to be just ; 
'Twas He maintained our right and cause ! 

And we in Him will trust. 

We know that having once begun 

His purpose will not bend : 
But still His grace will carry on 

The work unto the end. 

Yes, He the land with grace shall crown 

As with a diadem, 
Till she appear from heaven come down — 

The New Jerusalem ! 

Till wedded to the King — alway 

In glory she appears ! 
So be a century her day 

And hers a thousand years. 



PEACE. 

"DLESSED angel ! Blessed angel ! 
Of a glad Evangel, 
Speed thee on thy way ! 

Sunlight and salvation, 

Bringing to the nation, 

Welcome, O thou star of day ! 



A PSALM OF THANKSGIVING. 



295 



Hail victorious ! Hail victorious 

Banner starred and glorious, 
O'er our heroes borne ! 

Viewless hands unfold thee, 

Viewless hands uphold thee, 

Golden-fringed with radiant morn, 
Fringed with golden rosy morn ! 

Hearts are yearning ! Hearts are yearning 
For our braves' returning 

To their homes again ! 
O, the countless number 
On the fields that slumber 

In the strife for freedom slain ! 

Never, never ! Never, never, 
Shall our Union sever, 

War its work has done ! 
God, that reignest o'er us, 
Peace, sweet Peace restore us ! 

Be our land forever one ! 



A PSALM OF THANKSGIVING. 
T^HE Lord is our ruler — Jehovah alone — 

The earth is his footstool, the heavens his throne, 
And we are his people — the sheep of his fold — 
His care and his chosen — as Jacob of old ! 
Then praise we Jehovah— the sky is his throne — 
Jehovah is king — and Jehovah alone ! 

Our fathers he brought o'er the path of the sea, 
To found here a refuge — a home for the free, 
And mid the dim forests — the deserts untrod — 



296 SOJVGS AND HYMNS. 

They planted our Zion — the church of our God ! 
Then bless we Jehovah — the sky is his throne — 
Jehovah is king — and Jehovah alone ! 

He nursed us — he fed us — he led us along — 

By the hand of his kindness — till stalwart and strong, 

And when on our neck would the kings place their 

yoke, 
He smote our oppressors — our fetters he broke. 
O laud we Jehovah — the sky is his throne — 
Jehovah is king — and Jehovah alone ! 

And when we forgot the just vows of our prime, 
And loved our misdoing, and clung to our crime, — 
How good — yet how fearful and just is the Lord! — 
He smote all our land with the edge of the sword ! 
O fear we Jehovah — the sky is his throne — 
Jehovah is king — and Jehovah alone ! 

Our land is the Lord's, and our nation his son, 
And by it shall justice and judgment be done — 
His arm is our fortress, his word is our sword — 
O happy the nation whose God is the Lord ! 
Then worship Jehovah — for we are his own, 
And one is our master — Jehovah alone ! 



COME TO OUR LAND. 

C^ OD the Creator ! our Father eternal, 

^^ Come to our land — nor thy coming delay ! 

Come in thy power and glory supernal 

Winged as the Morning, and robed as the Day ! 



REPUBLICANS ARE LOOKING BLUE. 297 

Thine was the hand that did make us a nation, 
Take thy dominion — come to the throne ! 

Ride in thy majesty ! — bringing salvation ! 
Enter thy heritage — make us thine own ! 

Thine are our havens, our cities, our prairies : 

All to our land thy beneficence yields : 
Grass to its kine — to its eagles their eyries : 

Strength to its forests, and fat to its fields ! 
Thine are its commonwealths : — all hast appointed, 

Gave to them border and boundary stone : 
Gave them as King the Redeemer, anointed : 

Thine is the nation ! O make it thine own ! 

Come as to Israel ! — Captain and Warder ! 

Scatter the legions of Darkness and Death ! 
Smite ! — till thine enemies flee in disorder ! 

Warriors of Amalek ! — children of Heth ! 
Hope of the nations ! — Messiah ! — the promised ! 

Take thou the scepter ! and claim thou the throne ! 
Teach us, Redeemer, to watch till thou comest ! 

Jesus, Immanuel ! Come to thine own ! 



THE REPUBLICANS ARE LOOKING BLUE. 

Nov. 1S66. 

A A 7HAT color should a true man be ? 

The color that the traitors tore 
From out the banner of the free, 

But that a rebel never wore ! 
All through the war our boys looked blue, 
And so a rebel hates the hue ! 



298 SONGS AND HYMNS. 



The sky grows grey at night, when grey 
Disease creeps up from bog and fen, 

But morning breaks ! and healthful Day 
Bathes all the sky in blue again ! 

The sky is blue and blue is true, 

And so a rebel hates the hue ! 

With flag and garland and rosette, 

With heaven's hue, the blue, the true, 

Deck balcony and parapet ! 

God bless the blue ! God save the blue ! 

Let galaxies its draperies strew, 

God bless the rebel hated hue ! 



THOU ART COMING WITH THE SPRING. 

'pHE maple buds are swelling, love, 
*■ My crocus is in bloom ; 

And fragrant from its waxen leaves, 

My hyacinth fills the room. 
Upon the last year's flower stalks, 

The blue birds sing and swing ; — 
And I listen for thy coming, love, — 

Thy coming with the spring, — 
Thou art coming, thou art coming, — 

Thou art coming with the spring ! 

I'll wait for thee at the fountain, love, 
That you said was like my eye ; — 

The sun does not yet reach it, love, 
But 'twill shine there by and by. 




School is over. 



OVER THE SEA DWELLS MT DARLING. 299 

The warm breeze flits along the glade, 

And fans me with its wing, 
And tells me thou art coming, love, — 

Art coming with the spring, — 
Thou art coming, thou art coming, — 

Thou art coming with the spring. 

The old oak leaves are falling, love \ 

The leas are turning green ; 
The red bud corals soon will grace 

The brow of the ravine ! 
I welcome in the longer days — 

Ah ! thou hast heard me sing ! 
But I knew thou wert coming, love, — 

Wert coming with the spring, — 
Thou wert coming, thou wert coming, — 

Thou wert coming with the spring ! 



OVER THE SEA DWELLS MY DARLING. 

/^\VER the sea dwells my darling, 

In a cot by the wave-girted shore, 
But Love arches over the distance, 

And she dwells in my heart evermore. 
The cloudlets with roses o'erflushing, 
The blue of the sweet summer sky, 
But recall the dear grace of her blushing, 
And the blue in the heaven of her eye. 
Ever my thoughts, Alice darling, 

Are the image and echo of thine, 
Each record of Love in thy bosom, 
Hath an answering record in mine. 



300 SONGS AND HYMNS. 

Over the sea dwells my darling, 

In a cot by the wave-girted shore, 
O Memory ! open thy treasures, 

And present me the vision once more. 
O, is it the wave that embosses 

The beaches with sparkles and stems ? 
Or is it a sea-nymph that tosses 

To my darling her garlands of gems ? 
Is it the sunshine that dances 

With radiant feet in the coves ! 
Or the rapturous light that upglances 
From the eyes of a myriad Loves. 

White as the wings of the sea gull, 

Are the garments that cling to the girl, 
But fairer the feet that are shaming, 

With their beauty, the mother of pearl. 
The dove-pinioned wavelets she heeds not, 

That nestle and flutter behind, 
And she hears not the cry of the sea gull, 
And she hears not the sigh of the wind. 
Ye waves at her feet that are plashing, 

And ye breezes around the lea, 

O, whisper my name to my darling, 

To my darling far over the sea. 



NEW SAGAS. 



PRELUDE. 

(i.) 

T 1 7HEN some great master strikes the organ keys 
And from the chaos of unuttered sound 

Evokes a song replete with harmonies, 

No string so dull but doth thereto rebound : 
And answers come from all the echoes round ! 

When lightnings flash, or when the Aurora glows, 
There wakes a thrill in e'en th' insensate ground ; 

And o'er the electric wire no longer goes 

Earth's rede of greed, but some angelic message flows. 

(2-) 

Mine eyes have seen the infinite cords that reach 

Eternity, smit by a hand divine ; 
Mine ears have listened to the song in which 

All spheres and souls, and force and law conjoin 

In chords ineffable to lips like mine ; 
Yet as the dull may troll the master's song, 

Yet as angelic language on the line 
Of the electric wire may flash along, 
O, thought divine, find place my rugged notes among! 



302 NEW SAGAS. 



(3-) 
My song shall be of conflict — of the moans 

Of that great Atlas who doth hold the skies 
Of Barca on his shoulders ; of groans 

Of anguish and the unavailing cries 

Of slaves, in more than mortal agonies : 
Of Hesperus, brother of Atlas ; of his star 

That where the sun sets did in splendor rise : 
Of states belligerent — and of Hopes that are 
Like a new dawn that bursts from the pure heights afar ! 

I. 

THE WAIL OF ATLAS ! 



I am a monarch born, 
I of the ebon skin, 
Child of the Midnight, 
Greater than Apis, 
Older than Jupiter 
I am Atlas, 
Brother of Hesperus. 

Mine is the continent, 
Stronger than ocean ! — 
None of my borders 
Can the Sea enter, 
Though at the gateway 
The waves crouch submissive, 
Though they go moaning 
About it forever, 
Groaning and lapping, 
The threshold forever ! 






THE WAIL OF ATLAS. 



303 



Mine are the genii, 
Mighty and gloomy, 
Mailed in a cloud 
They ride the sirocco ! 
Guarding the deserts, 
And blasting the guilty 
That enter unbidden 
Into my dwelling! 

Mine are the couches 
Of rubies and diamonds ! 
Mine are the marshes 
Whose lilies are ivory ! 
Mine are the rivers 
Whose sands are all gold ! 

Mine is the ostrich 

Outstripping the storm wind ! 

Mine the leviathan, 

King of the river : 

Mine the behemoth, 

The lord of the lake : 

Mine the giraffe, 

With a neck like a tower: 

Mine the cassava, 

And cocoa and palm ! 

Mine are the jungles 
Unreached of the sunlight: 
Mine are the haunts 
Of the lion and leopard : 
There lurks the boa, 
That is my temple, 



304 NEW SAGAS. 



And there the gorilla, 
Armed with a thigh bone 
And gnawing a skull, 
Mumbles and chatters a hideous liturgy, 
Over a screed of his primitive parchment, 
Over a remnant of blood drabbled skin ! 
He is my worshipper: I am a god 
Stronger than Baal and older than Jove. 

Long have I guarded, 
Jealously guarded, 
The founts of the river : 
Kept them secluded, 
Inaccessible, sacred. 

Such is my dwelling place : 

Here were my children, 

Strong thewed and knobbed, 

With head like a cocoanut, 

Bodied like palm-trees, 

Footed like camels, 

Nostriled like lions, 

Hardy and rugged 

And used to the rain ! 

Mine is the land and mine are the people ! 

Mine have they been since the ages begun ! 

Where are the ancient Egyptians ? — 
They that builded the pyramids, 
They that sculptured the sphynx ? 
What has become of Misraim ? 
What has become of the Pharaohs ? 
Memnon and Jupiter Ammon ? 






THE WAIL OF ATLAS. 305 

Even their mummies are ashes! 

What can avail their inscriptions ? — 

What their hieroglyphics ? 

Lo, as the sands of the desert 

Hideth their shrines and their temples, 

So the sands of the ages 

Cover their name and their fame ! 

Let them perish — invaders! 

Not of my soil or my kin ! 

I and mine shall endure ! 

I am the child of the Sun ! 

Perish the Turks and the Arabs ! 
Perish the Dutch and the English ! 
Perish the kidnapping races ! 
Children of cross and of crescent ! 

Slavers and eaters of men ! 
Perish the hunters of ivory ! 
Perish the hunters of diamonds ! 

Not of my soil or my kin ! 
I and mine shall endure ! 
I am the child of the Sun ! 

Once a reverend man 
Brought the Child and his mother ! 
Over the isthmus to me, 
Brought the Christ and his mother ! 
Christ is stronger than fate is ! 
Him I acknowledge a king, 
And with outstretched hands, 
Own him as God ! 



306 NEW SAGAS. 



There are white sailed ships in the west 
And the wild Sea beateth his breast 
In anguish and unrest ! 
Woe is me ! 

They have seized my sons on the sands ! 
They have bound my daughters with bands 
Of iron, on ankles and hands ! 
Woe is me! 

There are mothers that plead in vain 
For babes from their bosoms ta'en, 
For babes that are snatched and slain ! 
Woe is me ! 

And the robbers jest and jeer ! 
And the shriek of my maids I hear ! 
But 'tis not death that they fear ! 
Woe is me ! 

Above the shout of the bay, 
I can hear them wail and pray, 
As they sail in shallops away ! 
Woe is me ! 

There's a robber's land in the West ! 
And the wild Sea beateth his breast, 
In anguish and unrest ! 
Woe is me ! 

What bearest thou unto the western isles 
O shallop, that dost bound along the waves 

Over the Genoan's path ! The Ocean smiles 
Upon thee, and with silvern ewer laves 



THE CURSE OF UMBAWA! 307 



Thy glowing feet : the way with gems she paves ! 
What is the treasure which the treacherous Sea 

Guards so securely over the countless graves 
That mark her passionate moods, -the graves that be 

bruits of her lawless and capricious cruelty ! 

The pilgrim landing in New England now, 

Hath brought thereto a Bible — Christian law — 

And liberty :— alas ! — what bringest thou ? 

Seal up the hatches ! From the coast withdraw 
Beseech the Sea to ope its cavernous maw 

And swallow thee and thy cargo ! Let the Wind 
Woo and betray thee with its treacherous flaw I 

But pass not to the shore, nor leave behind — 

The slave's curse, entailing woe on all mankind. 

The dark Mists creep along Virginia's shore, 

The cold dark Mists with their empoisoned breath - 
As if the river of the evermore, 

Were gray with phantoms from the vaults of death • 
With trooping phantoms whereat shuddereth 

The soul -and with their grisly robes eclipse 
I he feeble Morning that long tarrieth : 

And the poor slaves over whom its venom drips 
In the deep shadows lurk and curse with ghastly lips! 

II. 

THE CURSE OF UMBAWA ! 

I am Umbawa, 
Prince of Mpauqwa ! 
On the gaboon, 
Under the moon, 



308 NEW SAGAS. 



Had I my birth-place : 
Under the burning 
Eye of the Sun ! 
I am Umbawa, 
I am a prophet, 
I am a prince ! 

This is Virginia, 
Mother of mists, 
Mother of shadows, 
Mother of devils, 
Mother of forests, 
Rivers and marshes ! 
Pray to the devils, 
To curse her, my children ! 

This is the Dismal 
Swamp, my children. 
Bring here your fetishes, 
Those which I gave you. 
Bring in your offerings, 
Corn and tobacco. 
Worship the devil, 
Worship the rattlesnake. 
Field mice are devils, 
Black ants are devils. 
Give them your corn, 
And give them tobacco. 
Corn they will eat 
And tobacco they leave. 
Corn is the white man, 
Let disease eat him, 



PROPHECT OF ULALA! 309 



Ague and rheumatism, 
Palsies and fevers 
Wasting his flesh 
And rotting his bones. 
War is a black ant, 
It shall devour him, 
Hunger the devil 
Shall eat up his children. 
Thus I lay on him 
The curse of Umbawa ! 
You are tobacco 
Nothing shall harm you 
Nothing shall touch you 
Dark as tobacco ! 
Only the rattlesnake 
Shall creep around you 
After the white man ! 
Worship the snake. 

III. 

THE PROPHECY OF ULALA ! 

I am Ulala, 
Priestess and Princess 
Older and wiser 
Than is Umbawa ! 
It is not good 
To worship the snake, 
What are your fetishes 
Have I not made them ? 
Beautiful Ellen 
Teaches me Bible 



3 lO NEW SAGAS. 



Teaches the lesson 

Of Jesus the good one ! 

Pray then to Jesus 

And not unto devils ! 

Rice is the white man 

Some shall the ants eat, 

Some shall be seed 

That shall prosper and grow. 

Yes they have wronged me 

Stolen my children 

But the good Jesus 

Bids me forgive them. 

This is Virginia 

Mother of shadows. 

I am the child 

Of the land of the Sun ! 

And I forgive them 

Jesus will bless them. 

You are tobacco 

Nothing cares for you 

But the great Jesus 

He made you for something 

Keeps you for something 

And the tobacco 

Shall grow with the rice. 

I am Ulala 

And this is my blessing ! 

IV. 

THE SLAVE. 

The slave is but a chattel, to be held 
Subject exclusive to the master's will ; 



THE SLAVE. 



311 



He may be mortgaged, auctioned, articled, 

Be rented, pass by heritage or bill : 

His personality in law is will : 
He has no name, and none can ever gain ; 

He can own nothing : in no mercantile 
Transaction can he enter : can maintain 
No suit, nor can be sued : he ever must remain 

That which he is, a chattel personal 

To all intents and purposes soever : 
He has no rights, parental, marital 

Or of religion, and can have them never : 

The master may his wife and child dissever, 
Impugn and safe, unbridled and unchecked : 

A slave may be intelligent and clever : 

His mind with lore, his life with goodness decked, 
But negroes have no rights which white men need 
respect. 

Who does not know the history ? Who need trace 

The flimsy nets wherein the nation fell ! 
Let Charity the hateful page erase, 

Nor to posterity the story tell ! 

And yet what boots it ? Chance it were as well 
At times to laugh at folly, and drive off 

The clouds of woe — the mists of grief dispel : 
And if our jingle shall seem somewhat rough, 
'Tis for the subject matter suitable enough. 



312 NEW SAGAS. 



THE REMARKABLE ADAPTEDNESS OF THE AFRICAN 
TO HIS CONDITION AS A SLAVE. 

Considerate Nature, when she forms a man, 
Or makes a boy has still a definite plan : 
Nor was the negro framed by accident, 
But Nature wisely made him as she meant. 
A certain purpose was in what she did, 
Nor has she thoughtlessly her purpose hid. 
How well a skin of polished ebony suits 
A fellow born to black his master's boots : 
His nose is flattened, what is that for ? Well, 
That was to prevent his having too nice a smell, 
Lest in some gust of passion he destroy 
With hasty chastisement some useful boy ; 
Nature endowed him with a scull so thick, 
It can't be broken with a moderate stick. 

While to invite a booting for his sins, 
Considerate Nature gave him tender shins, 
His hair crisp curled : 'tis evident from that 
He need not clip it, and should wear no hat: 
Able to bear a clime all noons and Junes 
How much is saved in shirts and pantaloons, 
Then his flat foot — how neat is the device 
For planters who need laborers in the rice : 
Boldly the boy may enter on his toil, 
Fearless of sinking in the treacherous soil, 
For if the mud be just too thick to drink 
His breadth of sole forbids that he should sink. 
O happy we, to whom it doth betide 
That God's and Nature's plans thus coincide, 



THE SLAVE. 313 



The plan of Nature Scripture takes to nurse, 
And seals the nigger's destiny with a curse. 

How fortunate when will and appetite 
Both have their way, and find that both are right ! 
How well it was to have the Scripture damn 
To endless bondage every child of Ham — 
Cursed be Canaan ! Evermore shall he 
Servant of servants to his children be ! 
Or if the master be of such a mind 
As is to orthodoxy uninclined 
'Tis just as well — to him the negro's shape 
Declares him the own brother of the ape : 
To lift to the white man, as appears, 
(See Darwin) needs at least ten thousand years : 
Why make a face at that which one must sup, 
Let's use the nigger, and let use him up ! 

Such were the monstrous sentiments which found 

Protection in the muniments of law 

Whereby securely was the victim bound, 

And powerless placed beneath the dragon's paw 

Until the nation came to view with awe 

The idol it created — to displace 

Him whose revealings cloud-robed Sinai saw, — 

To rear its Juggernaut, and with abject face 

Prone in the dust to lie — contemptible and base ! 

Yet some there were who dreamed that there might be 

A tenderer relation, and they told 

About a patriarchal slavery 

Like that subsisting in the days of old, 

Where slaves were bought, they said, but never sold ! 



314 NEW SAGAS. 



An idyl, innocent as a school girl's dream ! 

A pastoral poem of the days of Gold ! 

Our slavery patriarchal ! Let a gleam 

Of truth shed on that myth a momentary beam ! 

Ah, there were chains, and whips, and brands and gangs 

Of fettered men and women, and the gloom 

Of the slave prison, and the bloodhound's fangs 

Wet with fresh blood, and the too sudden boom 

Of the swift bullet, and the certain doom 

That waited ever, even for those who were 

Most favored ! — those where soul and love illume 

The form voluptuous and the features fair ! — 

Whose beauty bloomed to find its fruitage in despair ! 

V. 

GENTLE MARY. 

Gentle Mary of the dairy, 

Was she lass or was she fairy ? 

Was she sylph-like ? Was she elf-like ? 

She was but her perfect self like 

Eyes of azure darting pleasure 

From a gossamer embrasure, 

Locks all flaxen, neck all waxen, 

Features regular and Saxon, 

Ne'er a farmer found his armor 

Proof against the lovely charmer, 

Yet this creature formed by nature 

So complete in every feature, 

So transcendently resplendent, 

Was a slave, a slave's descendant. 



GENTLE MARY. 315 



Child of Ethiop ! Could not Lethe 

In forgetfulness enwreathe thee ? 

Nay, all round thee did but wound thee 

With the thought of that which bound thee ! 

Free the rivers where in shivers, 

Free the sunshine glints and quivers : 

Free the hovering cloud above her 

Lingering, lingering like a lover : 

Free the thrushes in the bushes ; 

Free the snakes among the rushes : 

Free the plover in the cover : 

Free the rabbit in the clover : 

Wasp with sabre, bee with tabor 

Jeer at her enforced labor : 

E'en the olden chestnuts wolden, 

Rich with arabesques quaint and golden, 

Glistening in the moon new risen, 

Seemed to her a gilded prison : 

And the dapples of the maples 

Seemed but clustered chains and staples. 

Who rides under the elm yonder, 
Where the roadways meet and sunder ? 
Sits so lightly and so knightly, 
Smiles so fair and speaks so sprightly ? 
Ill betideth where he rideth, 
And the trembling bondsman hideth, 
Many martyrs of his barters, 
Know the victims in the quarters, 
That were boughten up for cotton, 
As of God and man forgotten ; 



316 NEW SAGAS. 



E'en the braver of them quaver 
At the coming of the slaver. 
Cease the rambles and the ambles 
Of the lads in groves and brambles : 
Pets are hid in nooks unthridden, 
By their saddened, heavy lidden 
Mothers, fearful lest the others 
Should be sold as were their brothers, 
Down to Florida the torrid, 
To the everglades dank and torrid. 

O'er the meadows creep the shadows 

Through the poplar palisadoes 

Shades more numberless, more somber 

One afflicted soul encumber, 

She was roaming through the gloaming 

When she saw the trader coming, 

And as sudden as if Odin 

Armed and helmed the lawn had trodden, 

Terror grewsome on her bosom 

Fell like death blight on a blossom ; 

And a chillness and a stillness 

As it were a sudden illness : 

To their sources all the courses 

Of her life the vision forces, 

Like the current of a torrent 

Fled they from the thing abhorrent. 

O the tokenless unspoken 
Anguish of a spirit broken ! 
How the sorrow of the morrow 
Sword like pierced her spirit through ! 



GENTLE MART. 3 17 



How with swelling and rebelling 
Of her soul she reached her dwelling 
Broken hearted, faith deserted, 
Even hope itself departed. 

Imps of malice, feeling callous, 
Poured an overflowing chalice, 
Still by question and suggestion 
Devilish and most unchristian, 
By misplacing and false tracing, 
Mixing up and interlacing, 
With pretenses to the senses, 
Duty, causes, consequences, 
Till they spurred her to the border 
Of despair and of self murder ! 
Such her sadness, such her madness 
She had greeted death with gladness ! 

Then her burning eyes upturning, 
With unutterable yearning, 
Watched she Sirius march mysterious, 
Watched and watched till all delirious. 
Then came whispers soft as Hesper's 
Answers to the softest vespers : 

And as hazes from the mazes 
Of the wood the Morn displaces, 
So were rifted and uplifted 
All the clouds that on her drifted : 
Slowly, slowly from the lowly 
Maiden passed her thoughts unholy, 
And her riven soul was shriven 
And she knew her doubts forgiven. 



318 NEW SAGAS. 



When with choral the Auroral 
Bands along their pathway floral 
Flashing hastened, she was chastened 
And her soul on heaven fastened. 
Then a luminous, more than human, 
Nimbus fell about the woman ! 
In her weakness, in her meekness 
In her maidenly uniqueness, 
You had thought her a god's daughter 
Going like a lamb to slaughter ! 
Went she queenly and serenely, 
Suffering, suffering, O how keenly, 
But transcendently resplendent 
As a star on Night attendant : 
In her splendor did she bend her, 
To the buyer and the vendor — 
Went a manacled Diana 
To the swamps of Louisiana. 

Bring forth your maidens to the pillared front 
Of the hall : place them upon the block : 

The Sheriff is unto the business wont : 
An expert he in handling human stock : 
He knows what they are worth, and when to knock 

The chattels down : he has no scruples nice : 
His sensibilities receive no shock, 
Or aught indelicate see, when he who buys 

Insists on knowing for what he pays so high a price. 

Who bids for Mary — fair and golden haired, 

Young, educated, christian : to the pen 
And to the needle trained, and thus prepared 



THE EGYPTIAN SPHTNX. 3 19 

To meet the wants of various sorts of men : 

So young, too — scarce six years since she was ten ; 

See how she blushes — how she droops her lids ! 
See how she trembles like a frightened wren! — 

I cannot often offer you such kids : 

Start with a thousand dollars, gents : who bids ? who 
bids ? 

VI. 

THE EGYPTIAN SPHYNX. 

Its form half buried in the gathered sands, 

Its piteous eye for aye to heaven uplift, 
Motionless, dumb, and questioning, it stands — 

The Egyptian Sphynx : while round it shift and 
shift, 

The circling sands, borne by the Samiel swift : 
And over it the golden sands of even, 

Soulless as fate, aimlessly drift and drift ! 
Still the mute marble questions, but from heaven 
No God responds, no answering oracle is given ! 

Thus with the slave ! He stood his hands uplifting 
In speechless prayer, that said — " How long — how 
long!" 

And still the unheeding stars went drifting, drifting, 
Drifting the dumb eternities among ! — 
The unfeeling stars ! which saw not when the strong 

Like the death angel of the desert swept 

Over the weak, heaping up wrong on wrong, 

That hid the o'erwhelmed sufferer, and kept 

The patient Sphynx beneath ! And stil) the heavens 
slept ! 



320 NEW SAGAS. 



VII. 

THE ANSWER. 

Yet is no wrong, however woven in 

The framework of society, but shall 
When God shall lay his finger on the sin 

Reveal its weakness at the touch and fall. 

The granite mountains tower vast and tall 
On a thin crust ! — How long they thus have stood ! — 

'Till beat the molten billows 'gainst the wall ! 
And then the mighty fabric, like a wood 
On the Mississippi, sinks in the fiery flood ! 

Honor to him heroic who dare face 

A public wrong — who neither courts applause 
Nor stands in fear of popular disgrace : 

Who at opinion crystallized in laws 

And trenched in ancient custom, does not pause, 
Who into battle led by love and duty, 

Never from them his fealty withdraws, 
Nor fears the frown of rank, nor scorn of beauty, 
Nor the expiring Cesar's cry of " Et tu, Brute ? " 

Hark 'tis the sound of thunder — 'tis the war 
Of the river that has burst through the crevasse, 

It is the rumbling of an earthquake, or 

The rush of flames — the voice of clouds that pass, 
Or wind that drives their black and shuddering mass 

With lightning scourges howling to their den ! 
Hark to the pulsing of the rhythmic base ! 

That sinks to surge, to surge and sink again ! 

Nor thunder nor storm! — it is the tramp of arm&d 
men ! 



THE ANSWER. 



321 



Hark to the shock of battle, — to the clank 
And clang of arms — to the defiant yell 

Of them that charge upon the serried ranks 
Of flashing bayonets — to the shriek of shell 
And boom of cannon ! — To the ebb and swell 

Of billowy life that ebbs in blood at last, 
And sweeps its undertow to nether hell ! 

The field is strown with corpses grim and ghast ! 

Death drift ! — that marks what way the tide of bat- 
tle passed ! 

The land is filled with widows and the black 

Betokenments of unavailing woe : 
And orphans wait for them that come not back, 

Whose kiss of love they never more shall know : 

And maidens nurse a grief they may not show 
For those whose names they may not dare to call : 

Sing, evening winds, your dirges soft and low ! 
For the land's dead — her noblest sons of all ! 
For never again shall earth behold such heroes fall ! 

The dead are buried ! When with them shall lie 

The bitterness, the malice, the unfair, 
Ungenerous judgments, and the jealous eye? 

When from the battle field the murky air 

Uplifts and all the clouds that linger there, 
Then shall some poet, from a height divine 

Beholding, to their sacred shrines repair 
And wreaths of song about their brows entwine ! 
But heaven reserves the task for nobler hand than 
mine ! 



322 NEW SAGAS. 



VIII. 

THE SONG OF HESPERUS. 

I am the giant Hesperus ! 
I am the brother of Atlas ! 
Mine is a heritage ample ! 
Mine are the hills of Virginia 
Clothed in forest and sunlight ! 
Mine are the plains of Nebraska, 
Where with the joy of the hunter, 
The steam car chases the bison. 

Alaska is my daughter : 
She lives in a palace of crystal : 
In furs of snow she robes her 
And is crowned with the Northern aurora ! 

I have girdled my lands 
With belts and ribands of iron : 
I have jeweled my States 
With cities and schools and churches : 
Mine are the ships of the Hudson, 
And the treasures of California : 
Mine is Massachusetts — 
She is mother of men ! 
Mine is Louisiana, 
She is my hope and my darling ! 
Mine is the Mississippi, 
Daughter of snows and of mountains — 
Mother of cities and farms ! 
Mother of Louisiana, 
Who is my hope and my darling, 
Who shall have for her dowry, 
All the wealth of the seas ! 



SOJVG OF HESPERUS. 



323 



Once in the long ago, 

Over the ocean came Freedom 

Guarding the ships of the pilgrims, 

Guarding the ships of the quakers, 

Guarding the cavaliers ! 

Over the ocean Religion 

Came in the vessels, with Freedom, 

Guarding the hopes of humanity, 

Guarding the worship of Christ. 

Wide was the sea, and the journey 
Was long and men slumbered. 

And out of the hells there stole 

A fiend with the wing of a Vampyre, 

And with the scales of a cayman, 

Fish-eyed and breathing flame, 

And bearing a casket of curses ! 

He poisoned the bread of my people, 

And poisoned their hearts and betrayed them 

To sin — to sin against Christ ! 

Out of the wings of the Vampire 

Came a darkness, and out of 

His scales sprang trammels and fetters ! 

All the flame of his mouth 

Was turned to wailings and curses ! 

All the glare of his eyes 

Was changed to a look of despair ! 

Woe to my land, it was cursed ! 

Woe to my land, for the wailing 

Of slaves and the clanking of chains ! 

I am stupid and soulless ; 

I cannot pray to the Christ ! — 

But my children were praying 



324 NEW SAGAS. 



And the Christ heard and he answered. 
Then were thunders awakened, 
Clouds of sulphur and flame 
Rolled o'er the earth with the marching 
And countermarching of men ! 
Then was the gleaming of muskets, 
Then from the mouths of the cannon, 
Burst the showers of shell : 
Burst like the rain of Vesuvius. 

Men saw war on the earth, 

I beheld war in the heavens ! 

What declareth the book ? 

" The Lord is a man of war ! 

The Lord is his name !" 

Never an earthquake is born 

But of the lightnings of heaven ! 

Men saw war on the earth, 

I beheld war in the heavens, 

Michael the archangel 

Warring in heaven with Satan, 

Over the field of battle, 

And in the sulphurous darkness ! 

And he prevailed, and the demon 

Heavily fell to the pit ! — 

Down through the infinite ether ! 

Down through the womb of the earth ! 

Down through the infinite spaces ! 

Into the bottomless pit ! 

Then out of the darkness 
Grew the wing of the vampire. 
All the curses and wailing 






SOJVG OF HESPERUS. 325 

Grew to breathings of flame ! — 
Broken trammels and fetters 
Grew to scales of the cayman ! — 
All the look of despair, 
Changed to the eyes of a fish ! 
Then to the hells stole back 
The fiend in the form of a fiend, 
Never more to return ! 

Lo, in the sky triumphant, 
Michael in burnished harness 
Rode in a star drawn chariot ! 
And a mighty procession 
Of heroes and angels were with him ! 
Washington followed by Lincoln, 
Lincoln with Jackson and Lee ! 
And I beheld, O wonder, 
In that mighty procession 
Bands of heroes in blue ! — 
Bands of heroes in gray ! 
Those battled wisely for freedom, 
These battled blindly for wrong ! 
Yet, since battled they blindly, 
When from the heights of the ether, 
Purely they saw, they did join them 
Unto the bands of the good ! 

All my land is free ! — 
Is free from ocean to ocean ! 
Hark ! for I hear a song 
And a shouting of " Allelulia !" 
Borne above the Atlantic 
And the roar 



326 NEW SAGAS. 



Of the frantic 

Waves along its shore! 
Comes the shouting of the free, 
For the triumph over wrong ! 
Comes an anthem full and strong 

Of a throng 
Whose heart bursts forth in song ! 
In a song that echoes long 
The happy hills and jubilant clouds among ! 
Allelulia ! 

Over the prison 

Of the slave 
Is the star of liberty uprisen ! 

And the wave 
Of the dawning day 

Enamels 
The horizon with its spray ! — 
God hath spoken 
And hath broken 

All the trammels 
That have bound his children to the ground ! 

And the aeons 
Shall reecho with the sound 

Of their peans ! 

Allelulia ! 
Again and again ! 
Allelulia ! 
For the Christ reigneth and shall reign ! 
Allelulia ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



JERUSALEM. 



'T^HERE is a land upon whose purple hills 

The burdened presses stream with ruby wine; 

The honey from the rifted rock distils ; 

The fields are black with heavy-uddered kine, 
Whose glossy sides like polished ebon shine ; 

Screened by the palm tree from the glare of noon, 
The merry husbandmen in groups recline : 

The year is there almost a ceaseless June, 

Blest with Arabia's balm — uncursed with its simoon. 

It is a glorious land ! Its border set 

With mountains needeth no protecting wall : 
Upon its lap smiles sweet Genesaret, 

To whom a hundred sunlit brooklets call, 

The voices of a girlish festival : 
And Jordan like a sleeping giant lies, 

In his Briarean arms embracing all : 
And sculptured in the marble of the skies, 
The graceful towers of consecrated Salem rise ! 

City of Peace ! My spirit turns to thee ! 
What wonderful remembrances are thine ! 

How strange has been thy varying destiny ! 
I see the incense rising from thy shrine, 
And the shekinah — influence divine — 



328 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Is in thy holy place ! — and like a gem, 

Or a bright star of even, thou dost shine ! 
And then I see thee waste ! Thy diadem 
Is fallen, and thy scepter broke ! Jerusalem ! 

O sacred city ! To the shock of war 

When Joshua led the tribes, and thou wast won, 

The Moon looked downward from her radiant car, 
A glad spectatress : — and the fiery Sun 
Reined in his steeds, and lit up Ajalon, 

Till Jacob o'er thy foemen might prevail ! 

The jackals lapped their reeking gore that run 

In crimson torrents down the craggy vale ! 

And the rude echoes howled and mocked their dying 
wail ! 

The thirsty sword leaped ravenous from the sheath, 

And drank in blood as eyes drink in the light ; 
And from the lurid sky, relentless Death 

Hurled the huge hail upon the Canaanite ! 

How the poor wretches vainly strove by flight 
To cheat the arm of Vengeance ! But too long 

Had they despised the holy and the right. 
Strong were their towers, and their bulwarks strong; 
But stronger was thy God ! — th' eternal foe of wrong ! 

The freighted years, a light oared fleet, sped by, 

And many a change, for good or ill, they bore ; 
And o'er the waves of time, the minstrelsy 

Of the sweet Psalmist, came above the roar 

Of hostile armies, and the din of war ! 
Then Judah's noontide sun burst from the clouds, 

And showed a noble argosy, and o'er 






JER USA LEM. 329 



Her laden decks, ran Labor's busy crowds, 
And the white dove of Peace sat perched upon the 
shrouds ! 

How the Jew glories in those days of gold ! 

When Libanus and Ophir brought their hoard 
From its concealment in the mine and wold, 

And into Zion's lap the offering poured : 

And the rough stones, in the deep hillside stored, 
Until they shone like gems the workmen wrought : 

And ocean's isles and grottoes, unexplored, 
Unknown till then, for palms and pearls were sought ! 
Rocks, rivers, mountains, seas — each its own treasure 
brought ! 

Their beauties met and melted into one, 
Just as a thousand different charms unite 

In female loveliness, or as the sun 

Blends rays of varied hue to form the light : 
A stillness, hushed almost as that of night, 

Unbroken by the hammer's echoing blows, 
Reigned when the temple of the Infinite, 

Bright as a cloud that in the sunlight glows 

Gorgeous and glorious on Moriah's mount arose ! 

Then Zion, thou wast beautiful ! The Morn 

Skipped o'er the sea to kiss thy golden brow ! 
To thee the Moon trilled from her silver horn, 

Her nightly melodies, as soft and low, 

As Erie's in its gentlest flow, 
Or the hushed breathing of a sleeping child ! 

Hope from thy radiant towers saw her bow 



330 MISCELLANEOUS. 

A thousand times reflected, when the mild 
Light drove the storms again back to their mountain 
wild ! 

Alas ! That this should change ! The Chaldee came 

Quenching thy brightness as the boist'rous waves 
Of the fierce sea might quench a taper's flame ! 

Thy slaughtered children made their homes their 
graves ! 

Whom the sword spared became the Conqueror's 
slaves ! — 
To grace his triumphs were thy princes led ! 

Hunted like beasts of prey, to the dark caves 
And rock-girt glens, the scattered remnant fled ! 
And the proud foe defiled thy temple with his tread ! 

Long years of woe were thine! How long — how 
long! 

Thy streets were empty save where whitened 
bones 
Lay crumbling the rank grass and weeds among ! 

Yet from their exile came their banished sons, 

And reverently raised thy fallen stones! 
And healed the breaches of the siege and sack ! 

And dance, and wine, and beauty's soothing tones, 
Half hid thy griefs, and made the heavens less black, 
Yet was thy glory gone, and never more came back ! 

Time passed. A band so bright, the Magi thought 
Their clustering robes a star, swept through the sky ; 

And as they passed, the list 'ning midnight caught 
The swellings of their mystic melody : 
Hark to their song ! " Glory to God on high ! 



JERUSALEM. 33 1 



Peace be upon the earth ! Good will to men!" 

They paused o'er Bethlehem, and hovering nigh 
Watched earnestly its sleeping depths awhile, and 

then 
Left Night and Silence to resume their reign again. 

Jehovah had come down to earth. " He came 
Unto his own and they received him not : " 

His soul so pure that on his snowy name 
Not Hatred's self could find a taint or spot : 
But they forgot his kindness — they forgot 

The hungry thousands whom his hand had fed ; 
The sighs he hushed ; the suffering whose lot 

Had won his sympathy ; the tears he shed, 

And condolence he gave to those who mourned the 
dead. 

Alas, that so much goodness should have died ! 

Befriending all — all unbefriended, he 
Trod his lone way : street, temple, river side, 

Field, vineyard, highway, — saw his charity : 

His love was like a never ebbing sea, 
Which brought to all health, hope and happiness : — 

And him they crucified! His agony — 
Earth trembled when she saw its bitterness ! — 
And the Sun veiled his face to hide his deep distress ! 

This Salem, was the crowning of thy crime ! — 

Of all the progeny of hell the worst ! 
And direful was its punishment ! The time 

Of Vengeance came ! On thee, of God accursed, 

The vials of his fearful anger burst ! 



332 MISCELLANEOUS. 

War, Famine, Fire, Dissension — gorged the maw 

Of hungry Death, and slaked his horrid thirst ! 
Despair leered nigh, and licked his bloody jaw ! 
And Retribution pointed to her changeless law ! 

And Zion fell ! Her temple and her walls 

With corpses and their kindred dust lay blent : 

And Beauty, which had graced her princely halls ; 
And Valor, which in peril never bent — 
To them the plowshare left no monument ! — 

And partial Fame nor urn nor statue gives, 
Nor need she, for the shafts of time are spent 

Not vainly on her marble narratives ; 

And Salem in the memory of her children lives. 

The mournful record of their country's doom 
And of their own, her banished offspring roam, 

But hopeful still their eyes look through the gloom, 
And catch the light of glory yet to come : 
They read the pages of the sacred tome, 

With aching hearts and cheeks with tears all wet ; 
And fondly turning to their ancient home, 

Bursts from their pious lips, " O Zion, let 

My hand forget her cunning, when I thee forget ! " 

They dream — perchance it may not be a dream — 

Though the long night succeed the murky even, 
Along the east shall wake the early beam, 

And earth be gladdened with the smile of heaven ! 

And Salem's children wandering unforgiven, 
Nurslings of Shame and foster sons of Woe, 

Shall be no longer from their country driven ! 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTT. 333 

The fir tree shall displace the thorn ! The myrtle grow 
Where grows the briar! And Peace shall like a river 
flow! 

Messiah comes ! The laden heavens bend 

Where rolls his ponderous chariot on high ! 
O Son of David ! From the skies descend ! 

Most Mighty ! Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, 

And lead to battle and to victory ! 
He comes ! His standard to the breeze unfurled 

And Judah's mail clad warriors clust 'ring nigh ! 
Woe to the foemen where their shafts are hurled ! 
They fight!— they win!— and He in triumph rules 
the world ! 

Well have they fought, and beautiful their prize ! — 

Most beautiful and worthy to be won ! 
See from her dust Jerusalem arise ! 

Her walls of crystal flashing in the sun, 

Like Winter's icy halls on Lebanon ! 
Her domes of pearl, with roofs of solid gold, 

Gleaming like clouds up which the young beams run 
( When Morn's refulgent gates their leaves unfold ) 
And scatter showers of light o'er mountain, sea and wold ! 



1860. 
'"jTIS midnight — and the watching stars 

From the abyss of blue look forth, 
Through clouds that float in rifts and bars, 

And greet with joyous shout the earth ! — 
As bright-eyed nymphs beneath the sea, 
Shout to the mariners in their glee ! 



334 MISCELLANEOUS. 

" Hail to the year — the new born one — 
Let the cloud banners wave and nod — 

Earth's shadow stretching to the sun — 
Great gnomon on the dial of God — 

Points to the Zenith ! Peal and chime 

Salute thee ! Youngest-born of Time ! " 

So sang the stars — as erst they sang 
When earth upon her untried wing 

Lay floating, pausing e'er she sprang 
Upon her course a beauteous thing, 

As some bright bird of plumage rare, 

Reposing on the conscious air. 

Join we the shout — let no eclipse 

Fall on those words of hope and cheer 

Let human hearts and human lips 
Give welcome to the Newborn Year ! 

Bid care be gone from soul and brow 

The saddest should be happy now ! 

O child, to whom thy sport and play 
Are full of deepest import, be 

Thy heart still merry while it may ; 

Long may all care be far from thee ! — 

They whom thou lovest best caress thee ! 

God and good angels bend to bless thee ! 
Happy New Year ! 

O Youth ! in whose ambitious eye 
Burns the desire for man's estate, 

Resolved that no destiny 

Shall hinder thee from being great — 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY. 335 

Be thine the more enduring fame — 
The splendor of a spotless name ! 

Happy New Year! 

O Maiden — in whose yielding ear 
The vow and prayer of burning love 

Hath found acceptance — if the year 

All that thou hop'st and more shall prove — 

That is our wish for thee — may he 

Win thee and wear thee worthily ! 

Happy New Year ! 

O Mother — watching as the years 
Bring to the fruitage each young vine, 

Be thine to see all that endears 
Of grace and gentleness entwine 

About thy nurselings — this shall be 

The burden of our wish for thee ! 

Happy New Year ! 

O thou loved land, whose myriad homes 

Confer new peace on vale and hill 
Themselves all beautiful — whose domes 

Of state are domes of justice still — 
Earth's joy and pride long mayst thou be — 
Just and united — strong and free ! 
Happy New Year ! 

Republicans ! — all hail ! — that dare 
Beard haughty Misrule on his throne ! 

Ye that are not ashamed to wear 
The badge of honored Jefferson ! 



336 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Who love your land — her righteous cause — 
Her Constitution and her laws ! 

Happy New Year ! 

Ho ! every laborer for the right ! 

Ho ! every lover of the true ! 
Ho ! every warrior in the fight 

With the fiend Wrong ! Good cheer to you ! 
Yes ! and to you our foemen even — 
For why judge we the gift of Heaven ! — 
Happy New Year ! 

O if the good the Father hath 

Unasked and un approached, cast down, 

Thick as the snow upon our path — 
The good he gives to every one — 

Be not abused, the New Year shall 

Be Happy New Year unto all ! 

Happy New Year ! 



DESPAIR. 

[ AM weary — I am weary 
A Of the world all dreary, dreary ; 
Gloomy thoughts around me gather 

Vultures gathered round their prey ; 
Sorrow still pursuing sorrow 
Chase my suffering spirit through ; 
And with claws relentless mark they 
Ever with fresh scars their way ! 



THE BURNT OFFERING. 337 

Murky clouds the heavens cover ; 

Birds of evil omen hover 

O'er my head and with their dismal 

Croaking fill the fetid air ; 
Earth appears one dark upheaval 
From the dread domain of evil — 
O'er whose scoria are wandering 

Blinding Hate and chained Despair ! 

O for the relief of Madness 
From this mania of Sadness ! 
O for the relief of death — 

If death indeed can bring relief — 
For To-day groans with his sorrow, 
And his brother is To-morrow, 
And the long, long future may but 

Bring unutterable grief ! 

God or Fate ! — all dreadful Power ! — 

How thy frowns in terror lower ! 
From the present — from the future 
Turns my soul in horror back ! — 

Cursed of God — of man deserted — 

Blasted, ruined, broken-hearted — 

All my sky is blackness — growing 
Ever denser and more black ! 



THE BURNT OFFERING. 

'THE snow was deep and the wind was cold, 

And the forest was bare of green and gold, 
When my first-born God let me hold. 



338 MIS CELLANE O US. 



I kissed, and kissed it, and let it entwine 
About my heart, a*nd they said its eyne 
Were like its mother's, but most like mine. 

Waked by my treasure into birth, 

New loves and loves unknown gushed forth, 

As fountains from the gladsome earth. 

From my soul's depth they rushed amain, 
First bounding up to God and then 
Flowing unto my fellow-men. 

I felt new love for Him who came 

To suffer for me and bear my shame, 

And I gave him my darling, I gave him my lamb. 

In fitting prayer, devout and low, 
A good clerk spake my silent vow, 
And placed upon my lambkin's brow 

The signet of God — the Triune name ! 
Ah soul ! how soon thou sawest thy lamb 
A holocaust — consumed in flame ! 

For God accepted my sacrifice ; 

Before my unexpectant eyes, 

His swift fire fell from the open skies ! 

The fire of suffering fell from heaven ! 
And with the offering I had given, 
The altar of my heart was riven ! 

The forest is bare of green and gold, 
The snow is deep and the wind is cold, 
But no sweet lamb my arms enfold ! 



CHARITY. 339 



Yet is my sorrowing spirit calm, 
For a sweet voice, where'er I am, 
Whispers these words of cheer and balm, 

" O murmur not if God receiveth, 
Thine offering of the gift He giveth, 
Unseen by thee, thy lamb still liveth." 



CHARITY. 

'THE wind blows cold ; the mother oak 

Bares to the storm her shivering form, 
And with her drapery, seeks to cloak 
Her nurslings, that from snow and sleet 
Hide in the leafage at her feet. 

The wind blows cold ; but colder still 
I trow, will be the charity 
That they who starve 'neath yonder hill 
Shall hear in word or read in eye 
Of any Christian passer by. 

The pitying clouds that swept the sky 
In snow enfold the sward and wold, 
Lest some unheeded herb may die. 
But who — who brings in their distress, 
Cheer to the starved and penniless ? 

Great God ! — when groan the crowded floors, 
And creaks the wain beneath the grain 
That from thy garner ever pours, 
When stalled and pampered cattle shine, 
And rich corn gluts the fattened swine, 



340 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Shall thy poor starve ! Hear thou their wail, 

And their wild cry of agony ! 

Thou, who didst once in flesh envail 

Thy divine glory, come again, 

And teach the brotherhood of men ! 



THE GOOD MAN'S EVENING. 

N the summer of the North-land 
Day is never lost in night, 
But the evening rich, and golden, 
Melts into the morning light. 



I 



Such a day the good man's life time, 
No night following its even, 

Which, irradiant with blessing, 
Mingles with the dawn of heaven. 

And the glory of the dawning 
Plays about his brow serene, 

And his locks, all white and bleached, 
Glisten in the sheeted sheen. 

Glows his eye, but not with passion, 
In his soul no lust consumes, 

Soul and eye and cheek, all ashen 
The descending day illumes. 

In this life though still engaged, 

He the better has begun ; 
Such an one was Paul the aged, 

Such the loved and loving John. 



WOMEN. 



341 



Doubt it not, O unbeliever, 

Such an one there sometimes is — 
Here and there is held in reverence 

Some angelic man like this. 

Happy they who share his presence 
Until Death, the Angel, calls ; 

Happy he whom God thinks worthy 
Of his mantle when it falls. 



WOMEN ! 

jDERHAPS most women may be reckoned pretty, 

But of the truly beautiful few are there ; 
Each has her fault : Sonora, Ellen, Kitty, 

Are passable no doubt, but nothing farther, 
Sonora is a tall and comely maiden, 

Dark haired and fair, dark eyes, with lips most lus- 
cious, 
With bosom white as baby hands e'er played in, 
But then Sonora has most horrid tushes ! 

Well, Ellen. She's good natured, plump and rosy, 

Wifely, industrious, everybody likes her, 
The very lass to make a homestead cosy, 

But Ellen's arm — it's like a marlinspike, sir ! 
And Ellen's eyes, perhaps you think they're azure, 

To me they're green as a green watermelon ! 
Woo her and marry her, if it be your pleasure ! 

But Venus, — well, she's some one else than Ellen! 

And Kitty, rather pretty, rather witty, 

Hazel eyes, brown hair, with face to match 'em, 



342 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Except her nose : her nose, the more's the pity, 
Is big enough for an Ojibwe sachem ! 

They say she's bald, but that's hid by her bonnet ; 
Her waist is neat, but that's because she laces ; 

Her hand is good, but for the warts upon it ; 
Her foot for Venus has too broad a basis ! 

I am no cynic ; good traits I discover 

And gloat on with an eye appreciative ; 
I honor woman, praise her, bless her, love her ; 

I know the goodness that in her is native : 
I think the average are good enough for 

The best of men. But he who seeks a Venus, 
A disappointed bachelor will suffer, 

Or find a spouse out of the human genus. 



THE YOUNG MOTHER. 

TS it more than yestreen since I played with you ? 

Is it more than yestreen ? 
Since I romped with you the garden through, 
And swung you under the apple tree, 
And you laughed and frolicked in girlish glee ? 
Let me see — why, Nelly — its one, two, three — 
You are just seventeen ! 

Ah ! playmate, don't blush ; for our baby love 

Is passed for us both ; 
And Frank, whom I know you are thinking of, 
Is worthy of you, and the blue-eyed boy, 
That coos and gurgles his childish joy 
In your arms, might give an angel employ — 

The dear chit ! — as he doth ; 



MARION LEE. 343 



You remember the botany that we read ? 

I remember it well ! 
As I look on you I think how it said, 
That sometimes — though cases were rare and few- 
A bud from a blossom's bosom grew : — 
The bud is your baby ! — the blossom is you ! — 

It is you ! blossom Nell ! 

If I were an artist, Nell, you should sit 

For Madonna to me : 
For the Holy Maid and the infinite, 
Who stooped from above to be born of her — 
Whom the Magi worshipped with spice and myrrh, 
Sublimest of mysteries ! — they were 

Like thine infant and thee ! 



MARION LEE. 

T SAT in the church, sweet Marion Lee, 

And thou wast seated in front of me, 
And an eloquent man, a grave and good, 
Was he who in the pulpit stood, 

But the preacher's voice, and the holy hymn, 

And the organ's low-breathed symphony, 
Were lost to me for sense was dim, 
And thought was dead to all but thee ! 

Yet not thine eye, that after thrilled, 

When I drank at its depths till my soul was filled, 

And not thy lips that after gushed 
Their pulpy richness upon mine, 
And fired my heart like generous wine, — 



344 MISCELLANEOUS. 

And not thy cheek, that after blushed 

The dear response, when the lips were hushed, 

But love compelled the sign, — 
Beautiful, peerless Marion Lee, 
Thy hand enchained, enchanted me ! 

Long I watched that marvelous hand, 
So pure and white, so frail and thin ; 

A dainty web of gossamer strand 
The delicate skin ; 

With veins so blue 

In mystic tracery gleaming through ! 

Its subtle motions attracted me much, 
It drew my eye like a star of even, 
Or a beam astray from the gate of Heaven, — 

But the thought of its soft, electric touch 
Bewildered me and maddened me, 
Till in my phrensied ecstasy, 

Or deed of death or mortal sin 

Were nought that hand to win ! 

Never wearied I watching it 
Hither and thither flit and flit, 
Light as down by the zephyrs stirred, 
Back and forth, like a snow-plumed bird ! 
I watched the soft and delicate palm : 

And the waxen fingers with shell-pinked tips, 

Nervously tapping thy dainty lips, 
Or turning the leaves to find the psalm — 

Each with its separate life instinct ; 

Or firmly, lovingly interlinked, 
Pressing thy brow as thou bent in prayer, 
Or nestled upon thy braided hair ! 



GRADUATION ODE. 345 



O beautiful, peerless, Marion Lee, 

Never mine eyes expect to see — 

Never could Indian princes wear, 

Jewels so radiant, jewels so rare, 

As the opaline gems then decking thy hair ! 

Ay, woe is me ! Ay, woe is me ! 

The grave hath claimed thee, Marion Lee ! 

In thy coffin I saw thee lie, 

Pale thy cheek and closed thine eye, 

And thy hand upon thy breast 

Like a snow-plumed bird at rest ! 

Come the day when I shall be 

Buried near thee, Marion Lee ! 



GRADUATION ODE, TO THE CLASS OF 1861, 
OF ST. LOUIS NORMAL SCHOOL. 

T \ IE part, but still 

We shall not 'separate : 

One life through all shall permeate, 
Though each fulfill 

His offices distinct, 

Soul shall with Soul in love be interlinked. 

Adieu, adieu ! 
As ye go hence, 

The former and creator 
Of your intelligence, 
Your Alma Mater, 
Beneath whose tender eye ye grew, 
Shall still infuse her spirit into you, 
And in your blessedness her own she shall renew ! 



346 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Banian fig-tree she ! 

Her branches ye ! 
She clingeth with her leafy hands, 

And root inlaced with root 

Unto each tender shoot, 
Till firm it stands, 

And one with hers is life and branch and fruit ! 



THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 

I. — The Text. 

A STRANGER sat beside the well 
"^^ And rested from the burning day, 
A shadow on his presence fell 

For lo, a woman came that way ! 
She came to Jesus at the well — 
The woman of Samaria. 

A man without a taint of sin, 

A woman of unholy life ; 
He conscious of the God within 

And lifted high from passion's strife ; 
She shamed and stained and soiled with sin, 

A fallen and polluted wife. 

And he the throned and lifted up 
Above the world and all its strife, 

Stooped from his throne and gave the cup 
Unto the sad Samarian wife — 

The living cup that springeth up 
Into the everlasting life. 



WOMAN OF SAMARIA. ZA7 

II. — The Sermon. 

O cold, cold Cliffs that float adown 

The ice rifts of the Northern Seas, 
Pure — pure but cold, ye seem to frown 

Upon the waves that kiss your knees — 
O scornfully ye sail ye down 

And leave the waves their drift and lees ! 

O Sunbeams, that through darkest clouds 
Still shimmer with your golden glow, 

Until we seem to see the clouds 
Of cherub faces turned below, 

Inviting us above the clouds, 

Night comes, and all your glories go. 

O Snows ! that fall upon the earth, 
And cover, with your mantle bright, 

The unclean creatures that creep forth 
Out of the filthy slums of night ; 

Ye cannot cleanse the unclean earth, 
Ye only veil it from the sight ! 

But He stoops down and makes us pure — 
He the self centered — from his throne ; 

And ours are glories that endure 

If once His beams have on us shone ; 

He veils our sins and makes us pure, 
And holds us evermore his own. 



348 MISCELLANEOUS. 



I AM A BOY AGAIN. 

T AM a boy again : the years 
A Have backward rolled — my child, my wife 
Are phantoms — strangely disappears 
In the abyss my manhood's life : 

I am become a boy again : 

I stand beside my mother's knee, 

I hear her sing the plaintive strain 
Which she so often sang to me. 

I feel her hand upon my brow, 
I feel her fingers press my hair ; 

I lift my eyes to watch, — and now 
Her lips are moving and in prayer : 

I know she prays for me — her boy 
Beside her : may he live to bless 

The world : in age to be her joy : 
The mode and mold of manliness ! 

I trace amid the locks of jet 

The silver threads that singly shine, 

I gaze until our eyes have met 

And love has streamed from hers to mine. 

I trace the lines that youth eclipse 
With richer, saintlier emphasis ; 

I feel the pressure of her lips : 

My brow is moistened with her kiss ! 



SING TO ME GENTLY. 349 

The dream has passed — I am alone : 

I shame not at the starting tear 
In memory of the loved and gone ! 

How dear ! How dear ! 

Come from the grave, my mother, come, 

For I would be a boy once more : 
Would feel thy hand restraining from 

Danger, as it restrained of yore, 

O let me, happy in thy love, 

Repose my head upon thy knees 
For I am weary, weary, of 

Life's sore responsibilities. 



SING TO ME GENTLY. 

April, 1S66. 

QING to me gently, 

My heart yearns for home, 
While loved ones are watching, 

And dear ones say come ! 
Sing to me gently, 

And soothingly sing, 
And soft as the runnels 

And breezes of spring ! 

Sing to me gently, 

I list for the tread 
Of loved ones that come not — 

The feet of the dead ! 



3 5 O MIS CELLANE O US. 

Sing to me gently, 

For voices I hear, 
That blend with the music 

But reach not the ear. 

Sing to me sadly : 

Those voices are gone : 
I heard their wings rustle ; 

My loved ones have flown ! 
Sing to me sadly ; — 

For earth is all gloom ! — 
My heart lies inhumed with 

My dead in the tomb ! 

Sing to me gladly ! 

Like storm clouds that drift, 
The gloomy veil sunders, 

I gaze through the rift : 
Shining ones beckon 

To me from the hight : 
My loved ones — my loved ones 

All angels of light. 



BEYOND. 
11 THAT is there beyond the shining wall 

Of lucent stone and studded with stars ? 
Do angels from its battlements call, 

Or seraphs peep through its pearly bars ? 

We never can pierce it with mortal sight, 

And our weary thoughts will dash their wings 

Against the butments that check their flight 
Till they faint and fall amid earthly things. 



CHAPEL HILL ROAD. 



351 



Sense cannot pierce it, nor thought o'erpass : 
But the spirit speaks to the ear of faith, 

" There the blessed are walking the sea of glass 
And the gate thereto is the gate of death ! " 

O dwellers about the great white throne, 
I shrink no more from the marble seal 

Of the skeleton hand ! The brighter zone 
Shall vistas of blossoming light reveal ! 



CHAPEL HILL ROAD, N. C. 

A WINDING ROAD from Chapel Hill 
Goes but with an uncertain will 

Down to the capitol ; 
Now climbing up a steep ascent 
With painful pace as if it meant 

To get one satisfying glance, 

One soulful look at all — 
All the broad sweep of field and dell, 
Of hill and vale, and slope and swell 

To the minutest circumstance : 
Then running down the hill again 
Along an undulating plain 
It saunters slowly through the farms, 
Or yielding to the runnel's charms 
It turns aside, or in the wood 
Seeks for the shade and solitude. 

On yonder hill-top where it paused 
Entranced, enamored of the scene, 
And dropped its eyes to the ravine, 



352 MIS CEL LA NE O US. 

That lay a hundred yards beneath, 

With vines enbowered, and with the breath 

Of a thousand flowers, sweeter than 

The sweetest garden formed by man, 

And on its bosom lay a Stream, — 

A flashing, quivering, silvery chain 

As e'er on fairest breast had lain ; 

Like linked diamonds it shone and shone 

As clear as the waters of heaven seem 

To flow from 'neath the great white throne 

When pictured in a poet's dream. 

It slept in voiceless Pools, that seemed 
To drink the light of heaven in, 
It broke in ripples, flashed and beamed 

Until its gladness found a tongue 

And uttered itself in song. 
As with the poet's soul it is, 
Whose richest and sweetest melodies, 
Are of his broken life a part 
And waken from a wounded heart : 
And the finest flashes of fancy from 
The fragments of the spirit come, 
That for us momently dance and gleam 
Like sunbeams from the broken stream. 

Along this road, so legends run, 
Cornwallis with his army passed, 
Before he met with Washington. 



DE PROFUNDIS. 



353 



DE PROFUNDIS. 



o 



UT of the depths of the horrible pit, 
Out of the darkness and out of the gloom, 
Where shadows o'erwhelm me and terrors inhume, 
I seek to the Holy and Infinite J 

Round me the dusk-winged and wicked ones flit, 
Borne over sulphurous breaker and spume, 
Channel of lava and bitumen flume, 

Where they were trolling with trident and spit ! 

Round me they crowd in the blackness unlit, 
Whispering doubts that my spirit consume, 
" Iron law presses thee on to thy doom ! 

Vain fool to struggle, thy fate is forewrit ! 

" Cursed thy life is, but causedst thou it ? — 

Causedst the poppy and night-shade to bloom ? — 
Causedst that thou went astray from the womb ? — 

Caus'dst that with death-blight the whole earth is smit ? 

« Evil —who caused it ? God ? Shallow the wit 
That rests in the dream of a mighty One, whom 
Creatures may placate with censer and fume — 

Easily won from their crimes to acquit ! 

" Fate is the monarch. All else must submit ! 

Change is a dream ! An eternal maelstrom 

Mingles forever the past and to come ! 
Similis semper similibus fit. 



354 MISCELLANEOUS. 

" Mantled in shadow the Destinies sit, 

Crones pallid hued as the guests of the tomb, 
Busy with needle and toiling with loom, 

Raveling ever the fancies they knit !" 

Devils ! avaunt ye ! I will not permit 
Longer your filthy and splenetic rheum ! 
All else is hampered, but where is the groom 

That curbs in the will with the snaffle and bit ? 

Sin is sole evil. Nor weighs it a whit 

That matter is chained ; and in Heaven there's room 
For insight more perfect and light to illume ! 

Back to their fountain my doubts I remit. 

Self I forsake. Supports finite I quit. 
Faith in the Father again I resume, 
I, the self-loathed on his goodness presume, — 

I, the impure, for his favor unfit. 

Out of the depths of the horrible pit, 

Out of the darkness and out of the gloom, 
Where shadows o'erwhelm me and terrors inhume, 

I seek to the Holy and Infinite ! 



JULY 4, 1870. 

r THE land for which our valiant fathers whilom 

Against 4;he hosts of Tyranny did battle, 
Is it today for Freedom an asylum ? — 

Or are its sons no nobler than its cattle ? 
Winds ! that ride grandly o'er its prairies, 
Say, are its men unfettered as its air is ? 



yuLT 4 ,i8 7 o. 355 



The land the Pilgrims sought to make an empire 
Of righteousness, with Christ for its controller, 

Does it withold its homage from the Vampire 
Mammon ? Is Justice still its only ruler ? 

Ye Lightnings ! flashing o'er its vast dominion, 

Flash thus on Wrong, its lightnings of opinion. 

O Land ! that erst to every nation 

Didst open wide thine arms, and call them to thee, 
Art thou today a refuge from oppression, 

To every race, such as the fathers knew thee ? 
Sea, that on every side my land embracest, 
Loves she thus all, even to the least and basest ? 

" Yes ! " is the thrilling answer, that at once is 

Heard from the winds, the lightnings, and the ocean ; 

And myriad hearts join in the glad responses 
With patriotic fervor and devotion. 

Yes, yes, the matron is as was the virgin, 

And the ripe fruit is beauteous as its burgeon ! 

If angel purity discover folly — 

If of thy sons there be whose eyes unfilial 

Would seek for fault, whose lips thy fame would sully, 
We join us not unto those sons of Belial ! 

We would forget that there are such undutiful, 

And hold thee spotless, perfect, and all beautiful ! 

The lines of ripened character are written 
Sweetly upon the loveliness of woman, 

By sorrow purified, but not down smitten, 

Grander of soul, and richer, and more human ; 

Earth knows no other like, and heaven no other 

So hopeful, generous, free as thou dear mother ! 



356 MIS CELLANE O US. 

The blessings of millions of the swarthy 

Freedmen are thine ; and prayers from the peons 

Of the o'erteeming East are rising for thee ! 
Nations shall praise thee to uncounted eons, 

And hail the mother of true men — a region 

To law devote, to freedom and religion ! 



THE CITY. 

T STAND upon the busy street 

And look up to the sky, 
And mark where clay and angels meet 
The spheral purity. 

The city like a mastodon, 

With sinews firm as stone, 
Upbraces with its back of brawn 

The skies that rest thereon. 

The musings of the patient beast 

I see in yonder smoke, 
I hear the surgings of his breast, 

I feel his pulses stroke, 

And Memory spreads her legends old, 
And Fancy sports therewith, 

The fable by the Grecians told, 
And the East Indian myth, — 

The one that Atlas holds the skies 

Upon his shoulders slant, 
The other that the flat earth lies 

Upon an elephant, 



SKATER'S SONG. 357 



And both are false. A truer faith 

Our whirring cities teach : 
Hear what the sculptured chapel saith, 

And what the factories teach. 

The heaven rests and all the lands 

On piety and art, 
Upon the labor of man's hands, 

The goodness of his heart. 

And so the smoke that rises up 

Transfigured to my sight, 
Floats in the blue a pledge of hope 

And vanishes in light. 



SKATER'S SONG. 
/^OME, dearest, where the skaters gay 
Their mystic measures interweave ; 
Come, for his rosy cheek the Day, 
Is resting on the breast of Eve. 
O'er us shall smile the virgin Moon, love ; 

While on the crystal sea we glide ; 
And the fairy shallops of our silver shoon, love, 
Shall bear us o'er the enchanted tide ! 
Now we glide, on the tide 

On the silvery tide ! 
Ever glide, ever glide 
On the silvery tide ! 

Nay, dearest, there is naught to fear 
For thou are lighter than the wind, 

Swift, swifter than the forest deer, 
We leave all care and thought behind ! 



358 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Come, place thy trusting hand in mine, love, 

While on the crystal sea we glide, 
And our faith and hope shall closer intertwine, love, 
To bear us o'er life's enchanted tide ! 
We will glide, love and pride, 

On a silvery tide 
Ever glide, love and bride, 
On a silvery tide ! 



SECUNDUM ARTEM. 

TF one is sick the case is plain, 
A It is not safe himself to proctor, 
To baffle Death and ease the pain, 

Send in a hurry for the doctor. 
The doctor comes, and shakes his head, 

Whate'er his thoughts, he don't impart 'em, 
No matter, when the patient's dead, 

We know he died secundum artcm. 

But not alone the man of pill, 

Cathartic, plaster, blister, bolus, 
When he presents his little bill, 

With this is able to console us, 
But others often find a way 

To tickle folk and sting and smart 'em ; 
The plans are various, but they 

All do the work secundum artem. 

The lawyer when he takes a case, 

And knows the flaw, but pleads and loses, 

Explains the why with blandest face, 
But ne'er his client's fee refuses. 



THE ERL KING. 359 



The cobbler hurries on your soles, 
So loose a summer dew will start 'em, 

To uppers strongly prone to holes, 
But takes his pay secundum artem. 

The merchant sells his cotton stuff 

Pronouncing it the purest flaxen, 
The butcher sells us cutlets tough, 

The chandler, tallow dips for waxen, 
But you and I, my honest friend, 

Have no such wares, or will not mart 'em, 
But other folk will to the end, 

I fear me, deal secundum artem. 



THE ERL KING— GOETHE. 

Vy HO rideth so late through the night-wind wild ? 

It is the father with his child. 
He has the boy well in his arm, 
He clasps him securely, he holds him warm. 

" My son why hidst thou thy sight so in fear ? " 
" Seest father thou not the Erl King there ? — 
The king of the Erls with trail and crown ? " 
" It is a ribbon of mist my son." 

" Thou darling child, come, go with me, 
All charming plays I'll play with thee, 
Many beautiful blooms in our land unfold, 
My mother has many a garment of gold." 

" My father, my father, is unheard of thee, 
What the Erl King whispers and promises me ? " 



360 MISCELLANEOUS. 



" Be quiet, my child, your fancy deceives 
The wind is sappling among the dry leaves." 

" Decidest, fine boy, to come with me ? 
My daughters already are waiting for thee ? 
Their nocturnal measure my daughters begin, 
For waving and dancing and singing thee in." 

" My father, my father, and seest thou not 
The Erl King's daughter in yon gloomy spot ? " 
" My son, my son, I plainly behold : 
So grayly are shining the willows old." 

" I love thee : thou charmst me, my beautiful boy 
And be'st thou unwilling I force must employ ! " 
" My father, my father ; he seizes your son : 
Some harm to me hath the Erl King done ! " 

Like a wind doth the father ride fast in alarm, 
He holds his moaning child on his arm : 
He reaches the court all weary with dread 
Upon his arm resting the child was dead. 



THE NEW YEAR. 

HTHE Old Year goeth out tonight : 
I see him by the gateway stand : 
His hair is thin, his beard is white : 
He shakes the New Year by the hand. 
Old Year adieu 
Welcome the New — 
The happy, happy, happy New Year. 



TO THE ORIOLE. 36 1 

Lo, angels lift the sapphire bars : 

The crystal gateways open wide : 
Unheard beneath the arch of stars ; 

The swift hours through the portal glide. 
Old Year adieu ! 
Welcome the New ! 
The happy, happy, happy New Year. 

Their hands still reaching through the cleft — 

The gateway parts them. He is gone ! 
The New Year of his sire bereft, 

Henceforth must bear his load alone. 
Old Year adieu ! 
Welcome the New ! 
The happy, happy, happy New Year ! 

Unto the last a parting sigh 

He breathes, and then right cheerfully, 
With step of steel and beaming eye 
Forth to his duty goeth he. 
Old Year adieu ! 
Welcome the New! 
The happy, happy, happy New Year ! 



TO THE ORIOLE. 

UEAUTIFUL Sprite ! 

Sporting in golden light, 
Thou fairest follower of the Spring, 
Art thou a living — a sentient thing? 
Or have the peonies taken wing? 



362 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Beautiful Sprite! 

Carolling new delight 
Thou Sun's high priest, that with royal stole, 
Thy sweet lay dost to the morning troll, 
Art thou a meteor with a soul ? 

Beautiful Sprite ! 

Many an acolyte, 
As fair as the blushing of chastity, — 
Each vestal blossom upon the tree, 
Is waving odorous airs to thee. 

Beautiful Sprite! 

Heavenly chrysolite, 
Upborne on pinions of floating flame 
Like seraphs rapt that above proclaim 
In song unceasing the holy name. 

Beautiful Sprite ! 

Sporting in golden light, 
The bough lit up with thy radiant plumes, 
Like one the spirit of Love illumes, 
It burns, and burns, but not consumes. 



SONNET. 

'"PHERE lies a watcher at the orient gate 
Until the portress of the morn unbar — 
A crouching cloud, whose robes all ragged are 
Dark is her heart, and rent and lacerate : 
She to the earth stoops close, glad e'en to wait : 
She sees the prancing coursers from afar 
And her heart leaps forgetful of its scar. 



HERMIT OF NIAGARA. 363 



And still she whiter grows and at the last 
She beams with silver radiance like a star, 

And to the world invisible is passed 
Translucent as an angel ! So would I 

Dark, sinning, sorrowing, prone to earth downcast, 
Wait till the chariot of the King draw nigh, 
And sin and self be lost in light and purity. 



THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA. 

'"T^HOUGH in thy veil of mist thou bid'st from me, 
' Thy glistening footsteps have I hither tracked : 
Here on this rock I sit and wait for thee — 

Thee love, thou Spirit of the Cataract. 
O list again my tale of constancy ! 

" I've dreamed of thee since boyhood. I have thought 
Of thee at midnight, when beneath the stars 

The whole earth slept, and thou hast been inwrought 
Into my daytime reveries on the cloudy cars 

Which sailed the sky with happy breezes fraught. 

" And I have heard thy voice come calling me 
When underneath the rustling beech I lay, 
And watched the wave that to the terraced knee 
Of the green hill leaped, hound-like, then away 
Along the sands went gambolling toward thee. 

" And I have thought that all things sought for thee ; 

For thee the Sun climbed up the eastern shore, 
Fresh bathed from the Atlantic's purity, 

And weaved thee rainbow garlands, and threw o'er 
Thy form, of sheen and gold a gorgeous drapery. 



364 MISCELLANEOUS. 

" I have not sought the circles of the gay, 

Where wanton beauty half unveiled is whirled 

In the mad dance, by passionate youths that pay 
Their amorous glances ; nor to breasts impearled 

Nor all their wealth of charms are eyes forbid to stray. 

" Nor could the halls of learning, — nor the stage 
Rich with enchantment, where the poet's soul 
Hath shed its affluence, — nor the voice of sage 

Dewy with scripture, weaken thy control, 
Nor me from my devotion disengage. 

" Nor love, nor wine, nor song, nor power, nor gold, 
Nor the sweet glimpses of domestic bliss 

That wooed me oft ! No, thy caresses cold 
And pure embraces, and the frequent kiss 

That falls like rain, dearer than all I hold ! 

" Thou hast all power, all passion in thyself 
Thou Spirit of the Cataract, and I gaze 
Where leap the waters from their rocky shelf 

Down the abyss to thee with no amaze, 
For thy charms lure sea-sprite and mountain elf. 

" The spirits of the mountain peaks, that keep 
The hidden treasures of the mighty west, 

Steal down the moonlit rivulets to peep 
Upon the beauty of thy snowy breast 

Unveiled amid the tossings of thy sleep. 

" The spirits that collect the dews, and fill 

The broad lakes, fill them for my love alone, 

Their purity but equals thine : distil 

The stars on thee their light, and o'er thy throne 

Scatter the radiance of their holy hill. 



MY DEAR ONE. 365 



" No more delay my destiny divine, 

But give the token of my speedy bliss : 
I know my life shall be drawn into thine 

Even as my whole heart already is : 
And yet I wait the anticipated sign. 

" Three happy yet three weary months have seen 
Me waiting in my strange novitiate, 

O love, thou knowest how constant I have been 
Watching and waiting at the diamond gate 

That flashes me and my pure love between. 

" She comes ! She comes ! I see the radiant star 
Upon her brow — the glory of her face ! 
She comes ! She comes ! she lifts the silver bar ! 
O love, in thine my arms I interlace, 
And we forever more united are ! " 



MY DEAD ONE. 

*T^HE wild flowers blossom in the wood, 

The lea with unsown flowers is strewed, 
And beam the garden sisterhood 
With bloom endued and scents imbued. 

Thou giv'st the flowers, cruel earth, 

But from thy womb where they have birth, 

The fairest flower of rarest worth, 

To home and hearth no more comes forth ! 

I kneel her little grave above : 

O long, long years, this dark alcove, 



366 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Must hide my hope ! O stern earth move 
My bud uncover to my love ! 

What words are these the soft winds bear ? 
" When blossoms sprang to light and air, 
She blossomed to a world more fair ! 
Look up, and dare to seek her there ! " 



COME! 

/^OME from thy home in the south ! 
^ Come — come! — 

To my northern home ! 
The spring with its odorous mouth 

Brings me the news of thee ! 

Whispers to blossom and tree, 

And whispers to me 

The news of thee ! 

To my northern home 
Come ! Come ! 

The birds that roam 

Southward in winter time, 
See vanishing frost and rime 
And northward come 
To the old nest, 
For love and rest ; — 
So, birdie, home 
To thy rest, 
In our nest, 
Come ! 



COME ! 



367 



Thou canst not come too soon ! 
Come in the summer's noon — 
Come with the blue eyed June ! 
Then shall the growing corn, 
(Whereon the golden Morn 
Of the rich summer pours 
Kisses in loving showers, 
O'er all the irradiant sea 
Of prairie) for thee — for thee ! — 
Streamers of welcome wave ; — 
Or else its brave 
Adornments have 
Of tasseling foam ! 
Thou must come ! 

Launch on the river thy bark ! 

Let its prow northward turn ! 
For know that we shall hark 

To its stout engine spurn 
The current of the dark 

Waters, and with arc 
Swift circling, all the highway mark ! 

Until thou come 
The days roll wearisome ! 
Come ! 

Two little buds of hope 
Their tiny petals ope ! 

Agnes, my pet and gem, 
(Whose eyes have caught the hue 
Of heaven's ethereal blue ! — 

Like thine own, Nem! — ) 



368 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Stretches her little arms 

Out through the purple mist 
Of distance to be kissed ; 

And all her being warms 
With eagerness, the while, 
To catch thy loving smile ! 

And Charley ! — precious one ! — 

My only son ! — 
(He'd beat a drum to have thee come !) 
The noisiest 
Boysiest, 
Most rollicksome, 
Most frolicksome 
And clever 
And laughter-compelling 

Sunbeam, that ever 
Shone in a dwelling ! — 

E'en he hath heard of thee, 
And knows how good thou art 
In life and heart ! — 

And, honey-laden bee, 
Says, with unceasing hum, 
Come ! 

She, who is half my life — 

My gentle wife, 
Opens her heart and home, 
To have thee come ! 
Come ! 
Yes ! — in the year's high noon, 
When blue-eyed June 



COME ! 369 



Smileth on field and wood, 

When juiciest fruits are ripe, — 

Perfect and toothsome, type 
Of perfect womanhood ! — 

Then shouldst thou come ! 
Thyself a perfect June ! 
Thou shalt our souls attune, 

That else, perchance, were dumb, 
E'en mid the harmonies 
Of bird-song and of breeze ! 

Come ! — thou hast promised ! — come ! 

Our house is spacious and new 
And we have room for you, 
And Agnes ! — little darling ! — 
Prattling like a starling, 
(Fitter for a mice house,) 
Says " Pa, aint this a nice house ? 

I like to live here ! " 
And she shall be your chum, 

And you will hold her dear ! 
Come ! 

Come early ! — come to stay ! 

Thou shalt not go away 

Until the leaves shall fall, 

Nor till the winds shall all 

Grow cold, and the South shall call 

Thee from our sterner fall. 

Ours is a happy home, 

And hospitable — Come ! 



3 70 MIS CELL AN E O US. 

Wilt thou not come ? 
O be not dumb ! — 
But answer quick with some 
Of thine old life ! Come ! 

Tabret and drum 
And hospitable home 

Shall welcome thee ! Come ! 
Come ! Come ! 
Come ! 

[Note. — The above is little else than a versification of a letter from to .] 



THE PATH OF THE JUST. 

T STAND and watch the panting lake, 

I stand to hear its pulses beat, 
I mark its waves that run and break 
Upon the pebbles at my feet. 

The sun rests on its farthest verge : 
Two worlds divide his glories even : 

One arching half beneath the surge, 
And one the open gate of heaven ! 

And shining brighter than their crests, 
And reaching o'er the waves, there is 

A golden way that floats and rests 
Upon their crystal buttresses. 

Ne'er richer burden lay thereon ! 

Though at my feet but faint and dim, 
It stretches onward to the sun, 

And brighter glows from me to him ! 



WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. 37 1 

Rapt in the vision I forget 

The world: — unseen the bathers come:— 
Unseen the fisherman casts his net : — 

Unseen the pleasure yacht goes home : — 

The day-long angler coils his lines 
And bears unseen his perch away : — 

For I muse of the just man's path that shines 
Brighter unto the perfect day ! 



WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. 

TV /JAY he, whose hand shall latest place 
-Lv a Within these leaves his benison, 
Upon their surface find the trace 
Of pure and holy thought alone. 

Be here the fervid line of Love, 

And here be Friendship's calm impress, 
And many an honest phrase to prove 

Affection's changeless tenderness. 

So shall thy book a garner be, 

And Memory gladly bear its keys, 

And so shall Hope fulfil to thee 
The choicest of her promises. 



SONNET. 

'THE leaden drops that in their stupor lie 
Within the poppy leaf, or on the river 
In the cold snake folds of the ripple shiver, 
If they would mount aloft, and in the sky 



372 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Join with their sisters, where they float on high, 
In the soft smiles of the complacent sun, 
Or where in circling dance they place upon 

The queen of storms her zone of gorgeous dye, 
Must yield them to the warm beams of the day 

That woo them from their grossness. So must we 
Become less earthly in the purer ray 

Of the Diviner Love, if we would be 

Of those bright clouds that fleck heaven's sky with 

isles, 
Resting enraptured in the sunlight of his smiles. 



THE SASSAFRAS. 

(Written for the Webster Grove's Sassafras Club.) 

n^HE royal oaks may broadly spread ; 
** And glory in their summer crown ; 
The hickories from overhead 

May shake their marrowy fruitage down. 
Let flock more grand live in the land, 
We envy not their lordly class, 
Contented with the fragrant scent 
Of modesty and sassafras. 
The sassafras, the sassafras, 
Beloved of lad, beloved of lass ! 
Be ours the fate to emulate 
The golden-budded sassafras ! 

The scents intense of spicy Ind 

May float their richness o'er the seas, 

We cannot bind the pampered wind 
In aromatic luxuries. 



FOR THE SASSAFRAS CLUB ^73 

More clever people be than we ; 

But all the woodland where we pass 
Shall have at least our very best, 
The best — it is the sassafras. 
The sassafras — the sassafras, 
Beloved of lad, beloved of lass 
The summer's pride, the summer's bride, 
The fragrant -scented Sassafras. 

The farmer cuts the forest down 

And drives the ruthless plowshare through, 
And covers with his harvest brown 

The dells where once our favorites grew, 
And we the field will gladly yield 

To useful folk ; but, as they pass, 
We trust they will remember still 
The virtues of the sassafras. 
The sassafras — the sassafras, 
Beloved of lad, beloved of lass, 
Live long the glory of our song, 
The green and golden sassafras. 



THE JEWEL OF A NOSE. 

[Written for the Budget of the Sassafras Club.] 

ITER name it was Medora — 

Her tricks I must expose — 
Upon her face she wore a 
Bright jewel of a nose. 



3 74 MIS CELLANE O US. 

Her teeth were whitewashed pickets, 
Or napkins hung in rows, 

But shone above their thickets 
Her jewel of a nose. 

Her hair — she wore a chignon, — 
A lovely red she chose, 

No peer in my opinion 
To her jewel of a nose. 

But her own hair is charming, 
And on her shoulders shows 

Just like a flame a warming 
Up her jewel of a nose. 

Her fingers like bolognas 

So fat she never sews, 
Ne'er shine, with jewels strewn, as 

Does her jewel of a nose. 

No knob upon a maple 

More holes and ridges shows, — 
Or bug sting on an apple — 

Than her jewel of a nose. 

An elephant's proboscis, 

That lights the way she goes, 

A regular colossus, 
Is her jewel of a nose. 

Like a trumpet loud, sonorous, 
Is the music that she blows, 

Or a herd of calves in chorus, 
From her jewel of a nose. 



FOR THE SASSAFRAS CLUB. 375 

The envy of the maidens, 

The toast of all the beaux, 
Her rosiest blush ne'er reddens 

Like her jewel of a nose. 

No source of human pleasures, 

No source of human woes, 
But that my love outmeasures 

With her jewel of a nose. 

I went to see my lady, 

My passion to disclose, 
I found her frank and ready — 

But that jewel of a nose ! 

I wish I'd ne'er commenced it, 

For, as from my knees I rose, 
I hit my head against it — 

That jewel of a nose ! 

I was formally accepted, 

But as from my knees I rose, 
I casually tapped it — 

That jewel of a nose ! 

O gentle sex and tender! 

Would any one suppose 
That your graces you'd surrender 

To defend an ugly nose ? 

Her eyes — they flashed like lightning, 
From her shoulder came the blows, 

But absolutely frightening 
Grew her jewel of a nose ! 



376 MISCELLANEOUS. 

She called me wretch and varlet, 

And her passion higher rose, 
And purple, blue and scarlet 

Grew her horrible old nose ! 

She kicked with great precision, 

I caught the gleam of hose, 
But the last thing on my vision 

Was that hideous old nose ! 

O Tophet, and O furies ! 

Would any one suppose 
That for love there such a cure is 

As that jewel of a nose ! 

O furies and O Tophet ! 

O Mahomet and Mose ! 
I've had sufficient of it — 

That jewel of a nose ! 

To the Members of the Sassafras Club : — 

It is with regret that I am guilty of the seeming impropriety of 
obtruding my private griefs upon the sanctity of your little circle. 
But I have been informed that an unauthorized use has been made 
of my name ; that an attack, wholly unwarrantable, has been 
made in your society upon a supposed peculiarity of my personal 
appearance; and, that slanderous statements have been made in 
reference to my conduct. I cannot believe that your society would 
knowingly countenance malevolence and abuse, and I therefore 
ask the privilege of presenting, through the Budget, a few state- 
ments of simple fact. 

The writer of a certain article which appeared in last week's 
Budget is a young man who has been so fortunate as to meet with 
a favorable reception, for certain verses of which he was the author, 
both at my father's hands and from the public at large, and has 
thus made the acquaintance of rny father (who is, as perhaps you 
know, the editor of Flint's Monthly Magazine), and was even able 



TO MT MISTRESS'S EYEBROW. S77 

to obtain an introduction to our family. His attentions to me were 
marked and persistent, and I was at first, I confess, somewhat 
flattered by them, and in my simplicity I gave him some en- 
couragement. Even now I must ackowledge that his person is 
not disagreeable, and that his manners are usually faultless. But 
a week ago last Tuesday (it was my nineteenth birthday, and will 
long be remembered), he so far forgot decorum as to come to our 
house in a state of intoxication, and in that condition solicited my 
hand in marriage. That I flatly refused to listen to him is the 
truth ; and he became so rude that I was obliged to appeal to my 
father, who properly requested the coachman to show the young 
gentleman out. He, while yet inebriated, as I must believe, was 
guilty of writing that good doggerel or bad poetry, as you please 
to term it, entitled "A Jewel of a Nose," though by what over- 
sight you allowed it to appear in the Budget I do not well under- 
stand. 

My nose is perhaps a trifle conspicuous, though my glass tells 
me it is not unpleasantly so ; and I assure you that all of the rest 
of the statements in the verses to which I have alluded are wholly 
without foundation. 

To show how differently the young person regarded me a few 
days since, I ask you to make public the following verses which he 
read to me, and to which I am ashamed to say I listened with 
pleasure, but in whose extravagance I now discover the same 
tendency to unwarrantable exaggeration, which is so evident in 
his latest production. Yours, etc. 

Medora Flint. 



TO MY MISTRESS S EYEBROW. 

Beautiful arch of the portal where thought and the 
loves and the Graces 
Mingle their gifts to Minerva and Venus, to Wisdom 
and Beauty ! — 
Jet from the brow of the Gods that the angel of 
Piety places 
Over the eye that shall burn with the flame of de- 
votion and duty ! — 



37^ MISCELLANEOUS. 

Angel of midnight, that hovereth, poised on the wing 
of the raven, 
Over a star that outshineth the wintery splendors of 
Sirius ! — 
Cloud that the lightning hath never with fiery passion 
engraven ! — 
Tranced with the vision I stand, with emotion dis- 
tract and delirious ! — 

O that my spirit forever might bide in thy holy do- 
minion ! 
O that the Heaven's Supernal might make a decree 
in my favor ! 
Changing my soul to a fluttering beam, that might 
nestle its pinion 
Deep in the bosom of love and of wisdom forever 
and ever. Julius Jonathan Jones. 

THE JEWEL OF A GIRL. 
[For the Budget of the Sassafras Club.] 

My dawning — my Aurora, — 

My incomparable pearl — 
My beautiful Medora — 

My jewel of a girl ! 

How could I so behave me — 

I acted like a churl ; — 
But my sweetest — she forgave me : 
My jewel of a girl ! 

I now am wearing under 

My vest a fragrant curl 
From the tresses of my wonder — 

My jewel of a girl. 



FOR THE SASSAFRAS CLUB. 379 



She is fair as nymphs of fables, 
And her voice is like the purl 

Of the brook among the pebbles ! 
My jewel of a girl ! 

Your wealth could not outmeasure, 

Were you baronet or earl 
My incalculable treasure — 

My jewel of a girl ! 

My joy — I can't disprise it — 

For my head is all awhirl, 
I can hardly realize it — 

My jewel of a girl ! 

How my thought upon her lingers — 
I acknowledge she could twirl 

Me now upon her fingers — 
My jewel of a girl ! 

I was jealous — I was cruel — 
But my head was all a-swirl 

'Twas the drink that wronged my jewel 
My jewel of a girl ! 

Only Satan's own apprentice 

Or an idiotic kerl 
Could wrong — if compos mentis — 

Such a jewel of a girl. 

My heart song now is sweeter 
Than that of morning merle, 

If but by chance I meet her, 
My jewel of a girl. 



380 MISCELLANEOUS. 

She won me — my exempler 

The drink I from me hurl — 
I now am your Good Templar, 

My jewel of a girl ! 

From every source of sorrow 

I'll guard you all my life — 

For I shall have to-morrow 

A jewel of a wife ! 

Julius Jonathan Jones. 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 

A MID the throng that treads the busy city, 
'^ A dreamer, I have often met therein 
Two saintly forms the messengers of Pity, 
To the poor victims of mischance and sin. 

Two : — but when I to some companion say, 
"There go the holy two," he looks at me, 
And says, " I see but one," and in a way 
As if he questioned of my sanity. 

And both go veiled. The one, with garments sable, 
Like the dark robe that widowed midnight wears, 
And one, with drapery surpassing fable, 
A web of sunbeams and of gossamer. 

She wears a simple and uncouth white bonnet, 
In perfect contrast with her raiment. Even 
Like this, her body still upon the planet, 
Like that, her thoughts and all her soul in heaven. 



SISTER OF CHAR ITT. 38 1 



And she, a crown of gems and glories blended, 
That o'er the other's such a radiance sheds, 
There seems at times a dove from heaven descended, 
With outspread wings to rest upon her head ! 

The face of one, sedate and traced with sadness, 
The record of a life with pain acquaint, 
The other, shining with seraphic gladness, 
Yet softened with the sorrow of a saint. 

The one I know and knew. The old love rises, 
And my hand trembles, and my eyes grow dim ; — 
May God accept our still grudged sacrifices ; — 
I gave my bride and all my hopes to him ! 



Sister Heloisa ! Clara ! Angel ! 
Earth born but born again, and from above ! 

1 see thee, not alone in thine Evangel, 
God's daughter ! scattering his gifts of love ! 

And so, I pray thee, pray for me ! who human, 
Still strive unceasing for the second birth, 
Who cannot for the saint, forget the woman, 
Nor yet am wholly earthly, of the earth. 



BIERSTADT'S " STORM IN THE ROCKY MOUN- 
TAINS." 

glERSTADT ! In my stupidity 
I hitherto had thought 



That nought of worth was ever by 
You landscape painters wrought. 



382 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Enraptured, by the visions of 

The bliss ineffable, 
That opened from the heights above 

To wondering Raphael : — 

By form divine and massy dome 

Which Michael Angelo 
Created from the stones of Rome 

In the great long ago : — 

I oft have stood in thought : but deemed 

That art was dead and now 
No more to living genius should 

The living nations bow ! 

But lo ! supernal Nature wakes 

At thine inspired touch, 
And through her bands and cerements breaks 

From the unconscious clutch. 



AD UXOREM. 

(~\ JENNIE dear, I well remember, 
^-^ For to forget were very stupid, 
How on a morning of September, 
You took me to the school of Cupid. 

My fingers sought with yours alliance, 
And part by word, part by example, 

You led me up the hill of science, 
And to the doorway of the temple. 




"The Bee to the Blossom." 



THE BEE TO THE BLOSSOM. 383 



And in the amber autumn weather, 
While all the air was full of music, 

We trod the diamond heights together, 
As curious lambs the heights of Hoosac. 

The Doctor was a chubby fellow, 

With mischief lurking 'neath his glasses, 

A sort of sun amid the halo 

And rainbow of his smiling classes. 

Ah ! I remember how I stammered ; 

I — who could now with learned thesis, 
Illume the page for youth enamored, 

And teach the alphabet of kisses. 

Yea, such my aptness, that improving, 
I rose to lead the higher classes, 

Learned all by heart the law of loving, 
And took the prize of rapt embraces. 

Then from a bachelor became a 

Full Master of the school of Hymen ; 

I held at length the proud diploma, 
The best and prettiest of women. 



THE BEE TO THE BLOSSOM. 

r^ I VE me the honey of thy lips, 

Be maiden blossom, mine, 
And let my hands, the long, long day 
Thy golden tresses twine. 



384 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Give me thy love : thy faithful bee 
No wandering knight shall prove ; 

His song shall be alone for thee, 
His song of joy and love. 

Nay, pause not — let the precious word, 
Come with thy fragrant breath ; 

That I shall be thy love and lord, 
Thy love and lord till death ! 

I claim thy heart — I claim thy hand — 

Should any menial clown, 
Dare bring thee suit, through all the land 

I'll hunt the dastard down. 

I'll chase him with unwearied wing — 
The wretch his deed shall rue — 

My rapier good, my burnished sting, 
Shall thrust him through and through. 

O blushing, blossom, by thine eye, 

I know that thou art won ! 
My head may rest upon thy breast, 

For thou art all my own ! 



FLOWERS. 

/^OD speaketh in the flowers. Each rosy blossom 
^^ Is a sweet word whereby the fields are lit 
Like an illumined scroll fresh from the bosom — 
The loving bosom of the Infinite. 



THUNDER STORM. 385 

For at a certain season all the angels 

Visit the earth, and wheresoe'er they gather 

They leave the scattered flowers — bright evangels — 
Gospels — upspringing songs and anthems rather. 

And when the birds come, and their carols ringing 
Upon the air seem like a throng of heaven — 

They are of heaven, for the birds are singing 

From the sweet notes by God's own angels given. 

For flowers are notes of melodies eternal 
That echo aye within the heavenly portals, 

And thus the breathings of the songs supernal 
When the birds sing are given unto mortals. 



THUNDER STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

/^VF slumbering Eons ; and the peaks 

Their robes of cloud unroll 
And from the eternal summit speaks 
Sublime the Eternal Soul ! 

Abashed the light in blushes gleams, 
And hushed the thunders peal, 

And rocks and woods, and lakes and streams 
The awful presence feel. 

And shadows hide them in the vale 

And in the canons dim, 
For God descendeth on the gale, 

With flaming cherubim ! 



386 MISCELLANEOUS. 

If always as a worshipper 

I mute to Nature bow, 
And find the Infinite in her, 

Yet more than ever now ! 

My minster dome henceforth shall be 
Thy mountains, native land ; 

And mine the organ harmony 

Where roll the thunders grand ; — 

Madonna yon fair clouds amid ; 

And there her Son divine ; 
And scarcely by their radiance hid, 

O Holiest, thy shrine. 



FLOWERS FOR THE SICK. 

*T^HANKS for thy flowers — thou couldst not brings 
A gift more graceful nor more sweet ; 

It gives my eyes new light to greet 

Their fragrance and their loveliness ; 

To breathe their balm and let them press 

So soft and cool, on lip and brow, 

As, may God bless thee, I do now ; 
And I forget my suffering. 

Chained by disease as I have been, 

By blank and barren walls shut in, 

Denied all visitors but dreams 

That rack me with the frightful forms, 
With which my wayward fancy teems — 
Huge basilisks, unsightly worms, 



FLOWERS FOR THE SICK. 387 

That o'er my flesh go creeping, creeping, 
Owls with great soulless eyes, that stare 
Upon me with unmeaning glare, 

Until I wake, shuddering and weeping. 

But when I see these flowers, a feeling 

Akin to joy and hope is mine, 

No more does every random line, 
Traced by some hap upon the ceiling 

Transformed into some frightful thing 
Chill me with terror, but there comes 

The cheering whispers of the Spring ; 
I see the woodpecker that drums 

Upon the old trees or the fence ; 
About my bed the glad bee hums, 

His song of hope and diligence ! 

And every bird of plumage bright, 

And every plant and every flower, 
That revels in the summer light ; 

And the sweet scents of rose and clover, 
And the dear breath of new mown hay, 

Are called before me by the power 

Of the sweet sprite that hovers over, 
My beautiful bouquet ! 

Again I tread the morning grass, 

With dew and light all glistering, 
Each spear hung with its tiny glass, 

Whereat the butterfly brushes his wing, 
And his admiring partner dresses, 
The silky radiance of her tresses, 



388 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Then thanks for thy joy giving flowers, 
They make the sorrow burdened hours, 

Tread with a lighter step for me ; 
The times assume a merrier mood, 

And to their proper places flee, 
The fiends Unrest and Lassitude. 



SONGS. 



PINE GROVE SONGS. 

I. — The Wooing. 
/^OME to the old pine grove ; 
^-^ Say not nay. 

Loitering day 
Lovingly lingers for us, love, 
And kisses his ringers for us, love, 

Haste for the day 

Is passing away, 

Come, love, come. 

Come to the old pine grove : 

Say not nay, 

Under the spray 
Odors are winging for us, love, 
And mocking-birds singing for us, love. 

Haste for the day 

Is passing away, 

Come, love, come. 

Come to the old pine grove, 

Say not nay, 

Darling, I pray. 
Shadows delaying for us, love, 



390 SONGS. 



In whispers are saying to us, love, 
" Haste for the day 
Is passing away," 
Come, love, come. 

II. — The Wedding. 

O mocking bird, hast thou not heard, 
My Nellie has been true to me, 

And thus it is our wedding day. 

Go sing it from the green wood tree, 

Go tell the vine and tell the pine, 

Go tell the blue-bird and the dove, 
And sing to-day the sweetest lay 

That ever cheered the old pine grove. 

Go tell the wind-flowers in the dell 

To blossom in their gayest sheen, 
And bid the pine trees all to shine 

In tassels of the gayest green, 
For O, it is the happiest day ! 

The sunbeams rove and flit above 
And deck with gems and diadems 

The arches of the old pine grove. 

Go tell the roses, e'er she goes, 

To spread the paths with sweets for her, 
Bid scented gum with perfume come, 

And sassafras and juniper, 
The fragrant grove our fane shall be ; 

Our altar, where I won her love ; 
The very place shall bless and grace, 

The wedding in the old pine grove. 



PINE GROVE SONGS. 39 1 

Go call the golden oriole, 

To bring the prettiest flambeaux, 
And tip the spire and gild the choir, 

Until the pine cathedral glows : 
To tip the spire and gild the choir, 

To flame in cloister and alcove, 
And make a day to chase away 

The shadows from the old pine grove. 



III. — Alone. 

They have buried my love in the old pine grove, 
Where the evening is saddest and the night lingers 
long. 
Where the vines have inwoven their shaded alcove, 
And the mocking-bird joins in the whippoorwhTs song. 
And the low winds moan, 
As I wander alone ! 
"Alone! — alone!" 
And never more for me light or joy can be, 
As through the dark pine woods I wander alone. 

I have read that the dead who from earth have fled, 
Have with angels and saints a delightsome abode, 
But I know that my maiden must long for the shade 
Of the balsamy glade that together we trod 
And the low winds moan, 
As I wander alone ! 
" Alone — alone ! " 
And never more for me light or joy can be, 
As through the dark pine woods I wander alone. 



392 SONGS. 



Say, ye spirits of air that from far repair 

To the pines at a sign from the marshaling stars, 
If there glideth not e'en a creature most fair 

With the dead to whose coming the midnight embars ? 
Tell me winds that moan, 
As I wander alone ! — 
Alone ! — alone ! — 
If ever more for me light or joy can be, 
As through the dark pine woods I wander alone ? 

my bride leave the vale of the shadows pale ! 

And come back, O come back from the black ever- 
more ! 
Ah ! her wings are too frail to encounter the gale, 
And the tempests of time beat her back from the 
shore, 

And the night winds moan, 
As I wander alone, 
" Alone — alone!" 
And never more for me light or joy can be, 
As through the dark pine woods I wander alone. 

IV. — The Dream. 

1 had a dream last night — I dreamed that'lying in the 

pines 
And looking through the groined roof where branch 

with branch entwines, 
Up through the starry spaces to the world beyond the 

stars, 
I saw a pure angelic form float through the cloudy 

bars, 



PINE GROVE SONGS. 393 



Float from the open door of heaven and down the 

shining way, 
And like a filmy cloud descend to where I sleeping lay. 

I saw it was my angel love — my own — my darling 

bride, 
But by the touch of death she was transformed and 

glorified : 
She spake no word, but slowly passed, and in her 

soulful eyes, 
I read the bliss ineffable of saints beyond the skies. 
I gazed entranced, and e'er I knew the blessed one 

was gone : 
I called her name and thus awoke, and found myself 

alone. 

They tell me I must shortly die it pains me now to 

speak, 
But O, I long to feel the chill — the death damp on 

my cheek. 
The vision came to comfort me to comfort and to 

bless, 
And peace is resting on my soul that words cannot 

express. 
We shall be happier above than e'er on earth we were, 
She cannnot come to me, but I shall go to be with her. 



AD BEATIFICATAM, 



TWENTY-FOUR SONNETS. 

WRITTEN TO GO WITH THE AUTHOR'S TRANSLATION 
OF HOMER'S ILIAD. 



I. 

WRECKED. 

^HE wreck, storm -tossed amid the ocean surges, 
■*■ Whelmed and despairing, as it struggles through 
The black abysses, while the mad wind urges — 

The day star breaks, and lighteneth its sorrow ! 

Wrecked and in darkness that hath no to-morrow, 
Tossed in a storm that beats and beats forever, 

Star of my life ! from thee new hope I borrow, 
And to my labor turn with fresh endeavor, 
And dedicate my toil to thee : for never 

Had it been wrought but for thy love supernal ! 
That love — that light — nor night nor mists dissever, 

Though pain be mine and thine delights eternal ! — 
Thine the wrapt ecstasy of harp and censor ; 
Mine night and agony, ever deeper and intenser ! 

II. 

THE MESSAGE. 
Lone, 'neath San Gabriel and Sierra Madre, 
I waited for thee — waited long, and wondered 



SNO W. 



395 



Wherefore thou comest not, till blossoming Spadra 

Seemed but a desert, from the whole world sundered ! 

Then came the message — as if heaven had thundered 
And hurtled its bolts upon me, blazing and burning 

And hissed them through my brain ! Trembling, I 
pondered 
The black lines o'er and o'er ! They danced as scorning 
And spiteful fiends before me, whirling and turning 

To a thousand hideous shapes, and each more 
fearful — 
More terrible than the last ! O, with what yearning — 

Dumb, but for sighs — I moaned away the tearful 
And half unconscious day, still horribly dreaming — 
And powerless still to sift the real from the seeming ! 

III. 
SNOW. 
Purely the snow is falling, and the sky 
With trooping of ethereal forms astir ! 
Softly, O softly tread o'er leaf and bur, 
The winter winds that sadly wander nigh 
Where sleeps my love — soft be your dirge thereby ! 
Yet from that sleep can nothing waken her ! 
Break ! — break ! — my heart ! For those dear lips 
that were 
But yesterday love breathing, through their pain, 
Are cold and dumb, and may not breathe again ! 
Tell me, ye angels, winging through the high 
Heavens above, is she among your train ? 
Alas ! — they are but phantoms of the brain ! 
Snow cold and pale art thou my love ! and I 
Lone ! — desolate and lone ! O Christ, that I could 
die. 



396 AD BEATIFICATAM. 



IV. 

SPRING. 
Ye buds, awake, when the returning South 

Whispers her name, to decorate her tomb ! 
Bend South Wind, to her grave, with loving mouth, 
And kiss the young grass into life therefrom ! 

Come from the heavens, ye Clouds, crape-mantled, 
come, 
And weep her sleeping form above ! Angel of Spring 

Gather the troops of shining Morn to illume 
With dewy gems the grass ! With gentle wing 
Sweet Pity, hover near to her, and bring 

Love, the divine, and Music, from the skies ; 
And when the Night comes with his shadows, sing 

Softly a requiem where my darling lies ! 
O dark, — dark Night ! when shall the Shadows flee 
And lift the dismal veil from twixt my love and me ? 

V. 
THE JOURNEY. 
With the whole continent twixt us thou wast lying, 

Thou pale, pale sufferer, worn and wan and wasted ! 
Thou callest me, and this was my replying : 

Through canons thrid with wailing streams we hasted ; 
Where lay huge crags, like giant wrecks dismasted ; 
Along dark mountain crests, and through passes 
Swept by the sand-storm's wing, or earthquake- 
blasted ! 
Swift as we sped, Death was before us flying ! 
His breath fell, blighting, on the shuddering grasses ! 
Seared, at his touch, the alkaline morasses ! 



ANGEL NEIGHBORS. 397 

Tomb-like and awful were the mountain masses ! 
And to the pale snows widowed Winds went sighing ! 
And sorrowing Night went by in weeds, outcrying, 
To my despair, " Yes, she is dying ! — dying ! — 
dying ! " 

VI. 

UNVEILING THE STATUE. 
As from his work, the veil that long conceals it 

Is, by the hand of the artist lovingly lifted, 
When to the eager multitude he reveals it, 

So from thy life, thou beautiful and gifted, — 

So from thy character, purer than the drifted 
Snows of the mountains, would the veil were holden ! 

They that knew of thee in their hearts enthrone 
thee! 
Pureness immaculate of spirit, molden 

After the pattern in the mountain shown thee — 
They gazed on that — they saw thereon the traces 

Of love enchased in burnished lines and golden, 
Of motherhood and wifehood, till with graces 
Divine, and goodness, life was all wrought over ! 
Ah ! — no deft hand to other eyes can that uncover ! 

VII. 

ANGEL NEIGHBORS. 
I know that mortal men have angel neighbors, 

An influence comes, we know not whence, nor 

whither 
It goeth, but it blesses coming hither : 
Our cares it calms, and lighteneth our labors ; 
It soothes our heart-wounds, when, with angry sabres, 
Swift sorrows smite relentless, hither and thither : 



398 AD BEATIFICATAM. 

And when, most bitter of all the dear lives wither 
That are our life's life, music of harps and tabors, 

And songs undreamed of save in sacred story, 
Float in the frosty air above the mutter 

Of the cold forest winds ; and through the hoary 
Flakes of the sunlit snow, we see a flutter 

Of angel wings, and passing glimpses of glory 
Such as it were not possible to utter ! 

VIII. 

APRIL. 

Ah, dismal, grey-cowled April, that with rheumy 
And unrelenting rains the sky envailest ! 
Wilt thou not cease forever on my palest 

Most precious one, to pour thy deluge, gloomy 
And black, as if of fiends thou wert the fellest 
Of all the inexorable with whom thou dwellest ? 

O, spare her in her grave ! Else thrust sharp through 
me 
Thy blades blue adamant, that malign before me 

Thou holdest, and thus utterly undo me ! 

Ah, dismal, grey-cowled life ! — that with thy callous'd 
And pitiless heart, com'st ever vengeful and stormy ! 

Her they entombed ! — my soul's enshrined and 
chaliced ! 
More vengeful floods than April's overbore me ! 

O Christ ! thy billows and waves have all gone o'er me ! 

IX. 

IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
Into the mountains climb I, and below me 
Billows the mist, irradiant and foamy 



THE FALLING BOWLDER. 399 



As an unrestful ocean, which its madness 

Still nurses, even in the dawning gladness. 
Ah ! would that with such ease as from the loamy 

And gross earth 'neath, I might escape its sadness — 
Its seas of sorrow, sobbing at the terraced 
Approaches unto thee, sainted and fairest ! 

Hence to the skies the eagle mounts with pleasure ; 

But I ! — alas ! nor parapet nor embrasure 
Vantage affordeth to these feet embarrassed 
And matter-tangled, or admits this harrased 

And grief-bestricken spirit to commeasure 

Those paths of light that lead above the infinite 
azure ! 

X. 

THE FALLING BOWLDER. 

As when some bowlder, black and massy, breaketh 
From an o'erhanging crag, whose hieroglyphic 
Of Titan spur and canon, looms terrific 

Above the unconscious waves ; the mountain shaketh 

To its foundations, as the rock forsaketh 
Its rooted seat ; and into the Pacific 
Plungeth precipitate ; and at the omnific 

Horror, the Ocean shuddereth and quaketh, 

And evermore with sorrowful sob complaineth — 
Her sad, sad monody of woe intoning ! — 

Into my life Death fell ! — and aye remaineth 

The shock's sharp pain — the anguish and the 
moaning — 

The rhythmic sob of the soul that still restraineth, 
Stifled, the struggle of unutterable groaning ! 



400 AD BEATIFICATAM. 



XI. 

THE DESTROYER. 

O winds of winter ! wherefore sadly droning 
Come ye from snowy peaks and ragged ledges, 
Wailing through sombre woods and leafless hedges ? 

We for our dead our litany are intoning ! 

O dark, dark river, through the valley groaning, 
Why beat'st thy heart against the rock's rough edges, 
And sobb'st 'mong trembling willows and sighing 
sedges ? 

The dead ! — alas ! — the dead am I bemoaning ! 
O dark, dark vales ! with dismal mists beclouded, 

With the sad relics of dead ages paven ! 

O monumental crags, by grief engraven ! 

O mountain peaks, by winter snows beshrouded ! 

Over you all the screed of sorrow is written ! 

All — all — as thee, my heart ! hath the Destroyer 
smitten ! 

XII. 

SPRING. 

The spring returns again, and wakes the flowers, 
But thee, O fairer flower than bedecketh 
Earth with its loveliness, no spring awaketh ! 
There is no beauty longer, when the bowers 
No more thy presence with its beams endowers ! 
The oaken leafage through, the sunshine checketh 
The window ; but thy hand no longer flecketh 
The sill with brighter sunshine than e'er showers 
Through the oak e'en when with gold it gloweth ! 
The blue bird sings : thou notest not his singing, 



DEAD. 401 

And so his flood of song but sadly floweth ! 

The clover springs : thou notest not its springing, 
And missing thee reluctantly it groweth ! 

I miss thee most ! To thee — to thee my thought 
still clinging ! 

XIII. 

ANTONIO. 

Storm swept Antonio dons his robe imperial 
Of princely purple, wrought by rosy Even : 

All courtliness, his servitors aerial 

Gather about his throne — the clouds ethereal, 
Seraphic — fair as they that with the seven 
Consort, about the throne of highest heaven — 

Elect and freed from every taint material. 

O love, athwart my life the storm has driven 
Its serried pinion ! all my .spirit over 

Dark visions sweep ! And horribly, malignly, 
O'er all the heights vindictive tempests hover ; 

Yet no angelic presence stoops divinely 

To clear the clouds, and through their folds benignly 
Thee in the ineffable heavens to discover ! 

, XIV. 

DEAD. 

Dead ! — Time and Death, ye cruel and unforgiving ! 

Dead ! — and for me is life no longer living, 
But being only, — aimless, dull existence, 
As of the beasts and worms, with no consistence 

Of thought or motive in me yet surviving : 

The wheels of fate are round and through me driving, 
With sullen thud and groan, whereto resistance 



402 AD BEATIFICATAM. 

Is utter impotence and vanity ; nor listens 
Or grave or god unto my soul's outpouring ! 
The impassioned midnight stars, my woes ignoring, 
Move unconcerned and coldly in their courses 
Through the eternities ! — blind and implacable forces ! 
Speak from the charnel, love ! — or from the adoring 
And rapturous throng, come back ! come back at my 
imploring ! 

XV. 

VISION. 

Friendless the world is, friendless, chill and lonely : 
There is no world to me since thou didst leave me : 

Men go and come — I see them not, or only 
As fantasies so faint they ne'er deceive me 
To credence, but of substance such as weave me 

Unrestful dreams. But thee — I see thee often ! — 
A wild but fleeting pleasure doth it give me, 

And serves the sternness of despair to soften ! — 

Not pale and cold thy form, as in the coffin 

It lay that sad, sad day, but fair and blooming : 

Serene with peace that storm shall never roughen, 
And full of love, that all my soul illuming, 
Makes me forget the cold world, and the dismal 

Phantoms that flit around me in the night abysmal / 

XVI. 
LOVE'S MIRACLE. 
As some cathedral, where a holy relic — 
Trace of the knees and lips of nun angelic 
Or martyred virgin — is with reverential 
Devotion guarded, and with penitential 



DESPAIR. 403 

And solemn ritual worshipped, — till from tower 
And spire to its foundations, with the dower 

Of sanctity is all the fane endued, as if the essential 

Godhead did condescend with grace potential 
His own divinity in its crypts to embower ; — 
O Love ! such temple seem I to myself, by power 

Of love transfigured ! It hath graced and blessed me ! 

Thy hand hath left its trace — thine arm caressed 
me ! 
Thy lips have kissed my brow ! — and there the flower 

Blooms of their impress, and with sanctity doth 
invest me ! 

XVII. 

DESPAIR. 

Forlorn ! — forlorn ! Nor land nor succor nigh me ! 

The shipwrecked seaman, though benumbed and 
strangled 

By the cold, soulless sea ; — his hair entangled 
With knotted seaweed, that like serpents slimy 
Creep o'er a face all haggard, and with grimy 

Spume of the ocean foul ; — his body mangled 

By the sharp rocks, still struggles from the em- 
brangled 
And warring waves ! But I from out the rimy 
And crested breakers escape not, though assaulted 

By surging sorrows that drive pitiless o'er me ! 
No angel stoopeth to me from the vaulted 

And adamant heavens ! But the tempest stormy 
Scourges and freezes me ! Alas, the rigor 
Of life ! — alas the wretch, whom Death and Fate be- 
leaguer ! 



404 AD BEATIFICATAM. 

XVIII. 
THE ASCENT. 

To the lone land, whenever chants his dirges 
The desert wind, I flee from Sorrow's scourges : 

I climb the mountain passes from the dismal 

Canons, gloomy with pines, until abysmal, 
Unfathomed, 'neath me yawn precipitous gorges 
Riven with earthquakes — as if Titan forges 

Laboring had rent them, — till I feel the chrysmal 

Unction of forests, and the torch baptismal 
Of light, that laves my brow with starry splendor ! 

But from my life, by Death the Titan, driven — 
The Titan Death, to whom all earth surrenders — 

O soul, by sorrow unto madness driven, 
To thee or balm or chrism no seraph tenders, 

Nor be there cliffs whereby to mount to love and 
heaven ! 

XIX. 

ASPIRATION. 
As pines, that to the mountain summits clamber 

To see the sun, and catch his earliest flashes — 
To see him like a bridegroom from his chamber 
Come forth rejoicing, royally robed in amber 

And saffron, when from 'neath his fiery lashes 

Leap his swift steeds, and on his chariot dashes ! — 
So I the heights of chrysofran and beryl 
Would climb to thee, at whatsoever peril ! — 

Though Death stand in the pass, and from the sum- 
mit 

A god would tremble even to drop a plummet 



DEAD HECTOR. 405 



Into the nether depths ! My soul could carol 
Her joy to see thee in thy bright apparel, 
Fittest for thee, immaculate, and from it 
To catch the sheen, and beam in blessedness con- 
summate ! 

XX. 

DESOLATE. 
I — tearless in my sorrow — dumb and tearless — 

Thee — pale and in thy coffin — I behold thee ! 
My lily ! — '- my immaculate and peerless ! 

These empty arms shall never more enfold thee ! 

I cannot speak the much I would have told thee ! 
I cannot even tell to thee how cheerless, 

How utterly desolate life is, watching for thee 
To move thy lips, that seem to move but move not ! 

Thou answerest not, however I implore thee ! 

'Tis I, my dear one — I am bending o'er thee ! 
My eager importunity reprove not ! 
I call in vain, for Death will not restore thee 
Unto these empty arms ! O sweet, pale blossom ! — 
I never more shall wear thee in this yearning bosom ! 

XXI. 

DEAD HECTOR. 
Hushed are the mourner's sobs : their casket wroughten, 

Burnished, Dardalian, jeweled — for the ages, — 
In dust of ruin : as themselves, forgotten ! 

His sateless greed with glory Death assuages ! — 
Neither by Bravery bribed, nor Beauty boughten ! 

Beauty, as Bravery, speedier doom presages ! 
Their sobs are hushed — their requiem note suspended ! 



406 AD BEATIFICATAM. 

But mine for thee, for whom my bosom yearneth — 

Whom in my heart my sorrowing soul inurneth — 
Thy love, with memories enbalmed and blended ! — 
My guide ! my angel ! though these rites be ended, 

Still on my heart the pyre forever burneth ! 

To thee my steadfast spirit ever turneth ! — 
Thee — and the heaven above — whereto thou hast 
ascended ! 

XXII. 

MIDWAY. 

As on Antonio's waist the miner halteth, 

And glances shuddering down its precipices, 

Into the gloomy gorges and abysses 
Tartarian, where some stygian cataract vaulteth 
To nether caves Plutonic, and assaulteth 

The wailing rocks among whose crags it hisses, — 

Glad he looks up to where the mountain kisses 
Embracing clouds, or regally exalteth 

His snow crowned crest into the infinite ether; — 
So from the valley of Death, wherein assemble 
Dark Memories of woe, my soul doth tremble 

And totter back ; yet glances upward whither 
Her winged Hopes, that sunlit clouds resemble, 

Cluster around the ineffable Love that led them 
thither ! 

XXIII. 

SPECTER. 

What art thou, Specter? — thou that movest grimly 
The somber twilight through, as a column 
Of mist adown the valley — weird and solemn ? — 

Or else that in the sunlight comest, trimly 



THE VALLET. 407 



Arrayed, and bridegroom like, in nuptial splendor ? 
Answer, for tearful eyes can see but dimly ! 
I know thee, Death ! — to me no more appalling ! 

Welcome, O Death ! — for I have heard a tender 
And loving voice, unto my spirit calling — 

And my rapt life would thereunto surrender! — 
Sometimes within, and sometimes as if falling 

From viewless heights, and parapets celestial ; 

And as I listen all the world seems bestial 
And all its harmonies but cross and dissonant brawl- 
ing ! 

XXIV. 

THE VALLEY. 

Valley of Spadra ! — by weird shadows haunted ! 

Valley of dreams ! — where long the sunbeams linger, 
As spell-bound by some wizard's cunning finger ! 

Vale of delights, whose cincturing hills are planted 

With blooms, whose fragrance hath the winds 
enchanted 
With subtle sorcery, till they loath to leave thee, 
And, passing, many a loving idyl weave thee ! — 

Lifted from them my glad eye wistful glances 

Where yonder luminous peak to heaven advances 
Its sad, pale brow — sun aureoled — which virgin 

Lilies of snow encrown with glorious burgeon ! 

Saintly and pure it all my soul entrances ! 
Valley of earth ! thou art a very prison, 

Where from to heaven hath my soul already risen ! 



LONDON BRIDGE; 

OR, CAPITAL AND LABOR. 



[A Poem for the Times. Written in 1878. Inscribed to Emily L. Mart- 
ling, his wife, but rededicated by her, in editing, to the Workingmen of America.] 



PROLOGUE. 

T7AIREST of lands ! Sole home of liberty! 

•*■ Land of the free ! — the equal home of all ! 

Land of my love ! I have a fear for thee 

Lest the strong arches of thy fabric fall 

Into remediless ruin, as the wall 

Of haughty Nineveh ; and one shall sit — 

Him hap, who on the ruins of St. Paul 

Sits to sketch London Bridge — and add to it 

Thee too, when Trojafuit, shall of thee be writ. 

I fear for thee, lest of the pillared state, 
Through lust of office, and the greed of gain, 
Thine equal arches from unequal weight, 
Topple and plunge into the depths amain. 
The clamors of the poor — thy cry of pain 
My mother in thine agony ! — the stay — 
The pier is groaning 'neath the unwonted strain, 
And battlement and buttress may give away ! 
God in His infinite pity long avert the day ! 



LONDON BRIDGE. 409 

Yet not the - commune — not the levelers 
Who always level downward — to the poor 
Are their best friends. The crude philosophers 
From forge and lapstone — ignorant and sure 
Because so ignorant, — they can never cure 
The ills of social order ! — and, indeed, 
The ill is not all ill, and to endure 
Is manly, were it ill. The better creed 
Is this — 'tis Christ's — let each regard his brother's 
need. 

All is not ill, if rightly understood ; 

That is not ill that stirs the inner fire ; 

The inequalities of life are good : 

They serve to quicken us — to wake desire 

For wealth it may be — or for somewhat higher. 

And the low hind, whom pinching want compels 

To ceaseless labor, if his wants inspire 

Him to incessant struggle, he excels 

Himself thereby, and may attain something else. 

And charity and gentle sympathy — 

The fellow feeling for a brother's woe — 

Are ever born of dire necessity ! 

Ah ! if there were no want, we must forego 

The fountains sweet of tenderness, that flow 

From the full heart of pity — bubbling o'er 

In kindly deeds, that human nature show 

Still Godlike in commiseration for 

The Master's poor — that we have with us evermore ! 

The " Builder of the Bridge " — the " Pontifex ! " 
Termed wisely thus the ancient Roman race, 



410 LONDON BRIDGE. 

Their highest priest, who wielded both the Rex 
That symbolized religion, and the mace 
Of office in the commonwealth's chief place — 
Head of the church and state at once. If we 
As wisely could conjoin the strength and grace 
Of law and love, there could no danger be, 
Land of my birth, I then should have no fear for 
thee ! 

i. 

Sarah and Bessie, 

And Lucy and Lily, 
And Jack and Jessie, 

And Tom and Tilly, 
All were playing at London bridge, 
While at the door was Little Midge, 
Holding her dolly to her breast, 
Watching and dreaming about the rest. 
Back and forth they swayed and swung, 
And a childish ditty sung ; 
O'er and o'er, again, again, 
One monotonous refrain, 
"London Bridge is fallen down, 

Fallen down, fallen down, 
London Bridge is fallen down, 

My fair lady ! " 

ii. 

The wind was blowing up from the sea, 
Lightly caressing forehead and hair, 

Kissing them all, the brown and the fair ; — 
For Heaven holds men of one degree, 



L OND ON BR ID GE. 4 1 r 



An equal-born fraternity, — 

And all were on a level there. 

Plain their garb, but necklace and crown 

Fell from the largess of the sun ; 

Gem and jewel were raining down, 

Flecking and decking every one, 

Decking them all, the brown and the fair, 

For all were on a level there, 

For Heaven holds men of one degree, 

An equal-born fraternity ! 

Back and forth they swayed and swung ! 

O'er and o'er their song they sung ; 

One monotonous refrain, 

Like the patter of the rain, 

Like the moan of summer's breeze, 

Like the hum of summer's bees, — 

Like the wash of silver seas, 

Over strands of silvern sands ; — 

Like a symphony of bells, — 

Like the song of ocean shells, — 

Like the noises of a town 
In a dreamy land : 

"London Bridge is fallen down- 
Fallen down — fallen down ! 

London Bridge is fallen down, 

My fair lady ! " 

Happy, happy childhood's days ! 

Happy, happy childhood's plays ! 

Healthful limbs and hearts of feather ! 
Every joint and thew astrain, — 
Tugging with their might and main ! — 



412 LONDON BRIDGE. 

Pulsing, struggling together ! 

All the sport is in the strife ! 

Face to face and might to might, 
So they keep the bridge aright ! 

Ah ! that thus it were with life ! 

Happy, happy childhood's years ! 

All were fellows there and peers ! 

in. 

This was in the long ago ; 

Some are wrinkled now, and old ; 

Some are in the church-yard mold, 
Sleeping where the roses grow ! 
" London Bridge is fallen dow?i, fallen down. 

Fallen down ! 
London Bridge is fallen down, 

My fair lady ! " 

• 

This was in the long ago, 
Little, — little do we know 
What the future hath in store — 
What there is that lieth before 
Any of us, — if there be at our feet 
Bridal robe, or winding sheet ! 

IV. 

Ah, 't were better to be dead, 
Than, forsaking love and truth, 
With disdain and scorn to tread 
On the playmates of our youth ! 

It were better to be dead, 

Than from truth and love to part, 



LONDON BRIDGE. 413 

And to live and have it said, 
" His is dry-rot of the heart ! " 

It were better to be dead, 
Than to live with heavy purse, — 
Heavy with the price of bread, — 
Heavy with the poor man's curse ! 

It were better to be dead, 
Than, with leprous soul and feet, 
Drag, as felons, to the Dread 
Presence of the judgment seat ! 



It were better to be dead, — 
Better — better in the grave, 
Than survive our manhood fled, 
And to be a rich man's slave ! 

It were better to be dead, 
Than to see our kith and kin — 
E'en the wife whose youth we wed, 
Pale with want, and hunger-thin ! 

It were better to be dead, 
Then to live and curse our kind, — 
Tramping with despairing tread, 
For the work we cannot find ! 

It were better to be dead, 
Than to hear the hopeless cry 
Of our little ones for bread ! 
Christ ! it were not hard to die ! 



41 4 LONDON BRIDGE. 



VI. 

London Bridge is fallen down ! 

Arch and buttress all are gone : 
Truss and beam and massy stone, 

All by Time are overthrown ; — 
And the fragments scattered far, 
Like the fragments of a star ; — 
Some perhaps with fire divine, 
And self-luminous, to shine ; 
In the empyrean to burn, 
Symbols of the soul eterne ! — 
Wanderers some, from place to place, 
Planets, fugitive through space, 
Through the boundless void of heaven, 
Into utter darkness driven ! 



VII. 

London Bridge is fallen down ! 

Arching way and battlement, 
Wedded beams asunder rent, 

In the floods to surge and drown ! 
Jeweled Sunbeams, tripping o'er, 
Tread the dimpled arms no more ! 
Flitting Smiles, and Love, and Pride, 
Dash no more from side to side ! 
Laugh no more, nor boisterous Shout, 
From the angels leapeth out ! 
Here and there the fragments strown, 
London Bridge is fallen down ! 



LONDON BRIDGE. 4*5 



VIII. 

Sarah long ago was wed 

To a thrifty Yorkshire farmer, 
And they called her Mrs. Armor : 

And the simple life she led, 

Made her healthful and content, — 
Kept her sweet and innocent : 

For the plenty of her board, 

Blesses she the loving Lord ; 

Grudging not nor crust nor sigh, 

For the homeless passer-by, 

But with tears her eyes bedim, 

As she looketh upon him, 

And she scarce can get her breath 

As unto herself she saith : 

*' London Bridge has fallen down ! — 
Falle7i down ! " 

*' Homeless wanderers such as he, 

Fugitive from fortune's frown, 

Haply may my playmates be ! " 

IX. 

Laughing, rollicking, frolicking Bess 
Became an Australian shepherdess ; 
For she married a fellow, who one fine day, 
Poached, and was sent to Botany Bay. 
But to her husband clung our Bess, 
In his shame and in his disgrace, 
And she helped him to hold up his face, 
And get them a home in the wilderness. 
There they stumbled on gold, and came 



41 6 LONDON BRIDGE. 

Into America, just before 

The breaking out of the civil war, 

Whence he emerged with rank and fame, 

Stolen cotton and rotten beef 

Stamped him murderer and thief! 
But the press became his bawd, 
And for hire concealed the fraud ! 

Trump and cannon hailed him chief ! 
Then with his fame and gold, he won 
A place in Congress, at Washington. 
There his wife is a star, of course, 
Mrs. General Wilberforce ! 

He ? his vote is always sure 

For the oppressors of the poor ! 
When with him our Bessie pleads, 
Telling of the poor man's needs, 
Telling him of childhood's days, — 
To the pleading of her eyes, 
In the pauses of her sighs, 
The besotted monster says : 
" He will vote for London Bridge, 
If to place and privilege, 
To the fortunate and rich 
It devote a special niche : 
But the London Bridge they made, 
When she with her playmates played, 
It is fallen — fallen down ! 
Fill the cup till memory drown ! 
He had dropped his childhood off ! 

Men are but a hoggish host, 
In a scramble for the trough, 

And the biggest gets the most ! " 



LONDON BRIDGE. 41 7 



X. 

Lucy went to the hall as maid, 

On sped the years, and still she stayed ; 

Modest, humble, satisfied, 

There she stayed till the lady died ; — 

Stayed and took the keys in her hands, 

While the earl withdrew to foreign lands ; 

Stayed, and ate of angels' food — 

The communion of the good ; 

For she loving converse held, 

With the sages, who of eld 

Caused our English tongue to rise 

To the level of the skies ; 

Drank she of the living well, 

Pure and inexhaustible, 

Of philosophy and song, 

Draughts that made her spirit strong, 

And that drew her from the plain, 

Where, too oft, her sex remain; 

E'en through grossness dense as night, 

Delved, as miners delve for coal, 

Changing it to glorious light, 
In the alembic of her soul ! 

Soothed by the gentle touch of the years, 
The earl found solace for his tears ; 
And, 'neath that sky whose folds beneath 
His loved one lay, again could breathe ; 
And could endure again to tread 
Where lay the ashes of his dead. 
When he returned, he found the fair, 
And ripe, and matronly Lucy there. 



41 8 LONDON BRIDGE. 

Was she beneath him ? Not if youth, 

And beauty, and a soul of truth, 
And sterling sense, and manners frank, 
May compensate for lack of rank, 
Lack of rank ? The man who can 

Keep through life his soul erect, 
True to God and true to man, — 

He is peer, of God elect ! 
For her dower our Lucy brought 
Such a soul illumed with thought, 
She had left the dregs and lees, 

And had culled from learning's page 
Honey, pure as that which bees 

Cull from California sage. 
She brought to him a life untaint ; 
She brought the virtues of a saint, 
If such inhere in living woman, 
And be not wholly superhuman. 
He brought his wealth and rank, and she 
God's patent of nobility ! 
If there condescension were 
It was not from him to her, 

Well, they were wed, and she became 
Thereby the Lady Lucy Graeme. 

Lady, lady Lucy Graeme ! 
Though we hold you free from blame, 
Yet the feudal heritage 
From a past and ruder age, 
Park and meadow, glade and lea, 
From the mountain to the sea, 
Which the barons, stout and fierce, 



LONDON BRIDGE. 419 

Won and held with bows and spears, — 
Golden leaflet, wreath of pearl, 
Which are brought you by the earl, — 
These, though you be free from blame, 
Though we deem you all the same, 
In your leal and noble heart, 
Wrest you from your mates apart ! 
They for bread may toil and sweat, 

While your temples you encrown, 
With a jeweled coronet ! 

" Lojidon Bridge is fallen down ! — 
Fallen down ! — fallen down ! 

My fair lady ! " 

XI. 

O youth and love ! The light and melody 

Of life ! — whereof our souls grow weary ne'er ; 
Stale, flat, and unprofitable, albeit, be 

All else : — and palling on the eye and ear ; 

Making us look with longing to the bier ! 
Love came to Lily's youth, a morning star 

Of opaline dawn, that ever shone more clear ! 
Love, as the Morning from his radiant car, 
Signaled to Hope, upon the luminous heights afar. 

So wrote our Midge of Lily. But she sung 
Herself a homelier strain, with voice as sweet 

As ever starling, in the dews, among 
The orange-blooms, or bobolink in the wheat, 
Frank, cheerful, kind, unsullied with deceit ; 
Full of all human impulse, good and true ; 

Sure of her lover, whom she knew complete 
In manliness ; into her love she grew ; 
And carolled oft such song, as here we give to you. 



420 LONDON BRIDGE. 

lily's SONG. 
Bob, the banker, came to me, 
Asking me his wife to be, 
He has money, he has lands, 
He has soft and dainty hands ; 
But my heart it was not free, 
And he could not wed with me. 
Nay, I shall be, for I can 
Be the wife of a working man ! 

" Little Lily, go with me, 
Mistress of my fate to be ; 
Maids are waiting your commands, 
And you need not soil your hands." 
That was what he said, but I 
Curtly gave him this reply : 
" Nay, I will be, for I can 
Be the wife of a workingman ! 

I know some one I'll confess, 
Who he is you cannot guess : 
But he is so wise and strong, 
And his life so free from wrong ! 
I'll not wear a satin dress ; 
I'll not lounge in idleness ; 
But I shall be, for I can, 
Be the wife of an honest man ! " 

Little Lily ! Alas, alas ! 
She is lying under the grass ! 
In the village cold and still, 
Among the marbles under the hill ! 



LONDON BRIDGE. 42 I 

O, she was beautiful that day ! 
We had crowned her Queen of May : 
Then her cheeks were rosy red : 
Rose, no lily, then they said. 

Donald was there, so dear to her ! 
Such a well-matched pair they were ! 
Proud he of his bonnie love, 
Proud of the mettled steeds he drove. 

Gayly, gayly rode they away, 
At the close of the festal day. 
On the morrow they would wed : — 
Ere the morrow, they were dead ! 

Close to the brink of the Hermit's Ledge, 
Close .to the precipice's edge, 
Reared the steeds, and before us all, 
Plunged they down the mountain wall ! 

Hark to the cry of wild despair ! 

'Tis the eldritch scream of the steeds, mid air ! 

Down and down to the gulf beneath, 

Into the open jaws of death ! 

O the woful, woful day ! 
There our mangled darlings lay ! — 
Under the dewy sycamore's drip 
Arm in arm and lip to lip ! 

So we laid them under the grass, — 
Her and her Donald ! Alas, alas ! 
In the village under the hill, 
Lily pale, and cold and still. 



422 LONDON BRIDGE. 



XII. 

Jack was a brawny lad of eleven ; 

Jessie a little girl of seven. 

Playmates true : but what else were 

She to him, or he to her ? 

Nought ? but something might have been 

At twenty-one and seventeen. 

Then the awkward lad began 
To reveal the handsome man : 
Then the beauteous maiden stood 
Perfect in her womanhood : 
Then must to herself confess 
Her surpassing loveliness : 
Then would e'en in secret blush, 
With her conscious passion's flush. 

And were this a tale of love, 
Here were told what charms inwove, 
Here were told what spells inwrought 
Heart and hope, and aim and thought, 
Every throb of brain and blood, 
Like intergrowing bud and bud, 
By the gardener's cunning craft, 
In a common stock ingraft : 
Like the mists that down the side 
Of the mountain slowly glide, 
As they to the vale descend 
Indistinguishably blend ; — 
As the silver and the gold 
Which the mountain treasuries hold, 
Molten by volcanic heat, 
Till the ocean tides they beat, 



LONDON BRIDGE. 423 

In a common mass are run, 
And indissolubly one, — 
So that all the chemist's art 
Them can nevermore dispart. 

Souls thus graft by cunning Love, 
From each other ne'er remove ; 
Spirits thus that interblend, 
Heavenward evermore ascend ; 
Lives thus molten into one, 
Sever not till life is done. 

In a cottage by the sea, 
Noiselessly, noiselessly, 
As the swans on mountain meres, 
Floated by their happy years ; 
As the billows on the seas, 
Waved their barley on the leas ; 
As the breakers at their feet, 
Was the blossom of their wheat ; 
As the voices of the brine, 
Was the lowing of their kine ; 

Plenty of them, many a gift 
Dropped into the hand of Thrift. 

In the grass, the roses 'mong, 
Other flowers in time there sprung : 
Fun, at even, sported with 
Sylvan boys that were no myth : 
Echo laughed amid the swirls 
Of the laughter of their girls. 

Thus, though not above the poor, 
Though they led a life obscure, 
Though by fortune uncaressed, 
Yet in blessing they were blessed. 



424 LONDON BRIDGE. 

As if, on some islet sweet, 
Where the morning sits to lave 
In the clear and glistering wave 
The rosy splendors of her feet, 
And the happy sea-gulls press 
Her, their mistress, to caress ; — 
Drifted on the ocean foam, — 
Drifted thither by the chance 
Of propitious circumstance, 
And thereon had found a home, 

In the lake within the ridge 
Of the encincturing coral, and 
Rested on the shining sand, 

Fragments borne from London Bridge. 

XIII. 

Tom and Tilly. It were as well 
If the story were not to tell, 
Theirs through life the hardships were 
That befall the laborer, 

She, a woman ; he, a man ; 
They their wedded life began. 
What was all their diligence ? 
Still it brought no recompense, 
Children but increased their cares ; 
Squalor and disease were theirs, 
Lower still they sank in slime : 
Every curse but that of crime — 
Curse accumulate on curse — 
Weighed them down to worse and worse. 

Once, indeed, there seemed to ope 
In their sky a gleam of hope : — 



LONDON BRIDGE. 425 

Some far relative, deceased, 

Left to them some small bequest ; 

And therewith they sought to fly 

From untoward destiny, 

To the new world in the west, — 

To the island of the blest. 

But not thus the fiend of 111 
Did they 'scape : he chased them still : 
Kept them from whate'er they wished, 
Left them sick, impoverished, 
Waifs upon a foreign strand, 
Strangers in a stranger land. 

Little recked they sweat and moil, 
So they had but leave to toil. 
Hunger made them only too 
Glad of anything to do. 
Glad to wear out thews and bones 
For their famished little ones, 
And to shield them from the gaunt 
And ghastly skeleton of Want. 

Huts and palaces of pride, 
Wealth and want were side by side. 
Yet will like unto its like, 
And there came the Pittsburg strike. 
Then the sight of torn up tracks, 
Merchandise in flaming stacks, 
Plunder, havoc, terror, gloom, 
As it were the day of doom ! 
Pillaged depots ; gusty rains 
Of cinders from consuming trains ; 
Women with disheveled hair, 
And with hungry eyes aglare, 



426 LONDON BRIDGE. 

And with lean and bony breasts 
Showing through their ragged vests, 
Burning, screaming, as they were 
Ministers of Lucifer ! — 
And delirious with delight, 

Cursing God and cursing man, 

Like the dam of Caliban, 
Or the fiends of nether night ! 

London Bridge was fallen down, 
'Twixt the country and the town ; 
'Twixt the nation's lowly wards, 
And its self-anointed lords ; — 
'Twixt the brawny sons of toil 
And the holders of the soil ; — 
'Twixt the men of horny fists, 
And the gloved monopolists ! 
Over the fallen ways, alas ! 
Loves no longer pass and pass ; 
But a surging gulf divides, 
More and more the hostile sides : — 
Bridgeless ! — as the gulf betwixt 
Hell and highest heaven fixed ! 

But the law is pitiless, and 
Laid on Tom its mailed hand. 

Poor, poor Tom ! to prison led ! 
There upon a felon's bed — 
There he died ! A felon's shame 
Staining the unsullied name 
Of a man, who dared defy 
His oppressors, and to die ! — 
Of a man who nobly fought 
To secure the right he sought, 



LONDON BRIDGE. 427 

Facing death, as brave men ought ! 

Poor, poor Tom ! To prison led ! — 
Poor, poor Tilly ! — lacking bread. 
What for her and her babes was left ? 
Death, or beggary, or theft ! 
So, one morn, at break of day, 
On her husband's grave she lay. 
" Cause unknown," the record saith ! 
God knows ! She was starved to death ! 

Ah the sorrows of the poor ! 
Ah ! the woes they must endure ! 
Yet a fearful reckoning 
Comes for nabob and for king ! 
If the few will state their greed, 
Reckless of the hosts that need : — 
If the laws be framed to hedge 
Precedent and privilege, 
And the masses are to be 
Serfs to a plutocracy, — 
God himself will judge the cause, 
In defiance of the laws ! 
What to Him is screed or scrawl ? 
He will nullify it all ! 
In His anger infinite 
He will make a mock of it ! 

By and by the land shall rock, 
As there were an earthquake shock ! 
Then Revenge shall lick her lips ! 
Then at noon shall be eclipse ! 
And, as when a comet sweeps 
Baleful from the upper deeps, 
Then the purple air shall hiss 



428 LONDON BRIDGE. 

With the scourge of Nemesis ! 
If the earth, your feet beneath, 
Ye have sown with dragon's teeth, 
Ye shall rue the harvest when 
Spring they up as armed men ! 

XIV. 

On the steps was little Midge, 
Watching the play of London Bridge ; 
In a hazy and dreamy way, 
Wondering at the simple play ; 
Wondering what would happen when 
They were grown to women and men. 

Child she was, and to her breast, 
Childlike she her dolly pressed ; 
Child she was, but not by years 
Measure we the lives of seers ; 
Little can material cause 
Gauge the spirit's finer laws ; 
Or discern what subtle sense 
Antedates experience, 
And the gifted child endows 
With the poet's ample brows. 
Hers the spirit-luminous eye, 
Wherefrom speaketh poesy ! 
Hers such soul as finds a tongue 
In the notes of deathless song ; 
As if angels touched its keys 
To celestial harmonies. 

So she watched her mates at play, 
In a weird and absent way, 
And their destiny forecast 



LONDON BRIDGE. 429 

As it were already passed, 
Humming in an undertone 
" London Bridge is fallen down! 

Fallen dozvn ! — fallen down ! 
Lojidoti Bridge is fallen down ! 

My fair lady ! " 
" Some in dusty roads, and brown, 
Some in alleys green and shady, 
Through the country, through the town, 
Hither, thither they are strown, 
Scattered, scattered, far and wide, 
As the drift by wind and tide." 

While she to her dolly clung, 
Thus the little dreamer sung. 

Yet the elfin phrophetess, 
Fairy sibyl, could she guess 
What the gifts and graces were 
Which the future held for her ? 

Goodness grew, until full-orbed 
It into itself absorbed 
All her life, and that became 
But a self-consuming flame. 

Yet, although thereto she brought, 
Genius, labor, culture, thought, 
In her unassuming eyes 
All too small the sacrifice. 

Then the curate, when she stood 
At the gate of womanhood. 
Came, and saw, was conquered, and 
Wooed and won her, heart and hand. 

In his work, henceforth, to his 
Dante, she was Beatrice ; 



430 LONDON BRIDGE. 

To his Numa, fitlier say, 
She was the Egeria, 
Teaching him to legislate 
Wisely for his little State. 
So, inspired of her he wrought, 

Entering the homes of all, 

Lowly hut and lordly hall ; — 
So, inspired of her, he taught 

How our social order is 
By opposing force upheld ; — 
How, diverse, our interests weld 

Battlements and buttresses. 
Turbulent our passions roll, 
Separating soul from soul ; 
But, if all regard the good 
Of the human brotherhood, 
And respect the rights of each, 
As the blessed gospels teach ; — 
If, with just and equal laws, 
We protect the poor man's cause ; — 
If, across the muddy tide, 
Love and Faith, from side to side, 
Mutual Help and Cheer shall flit, 
Then, shall struggle stronger knit, 
O'er the ever-flowing stream, 
Truss to truss, and beam to beam ; 
And the arches overspan 
All that separates man and man. 

But the common bond will break, 
If the strong forsake the weak ; — 
If your wealth despise your want, 
And your wise your ignorant ; 



LONDON BRIDGE. 43 l 

If insatiate as sharks 
Be your moneyed oligarchs, 
And their hankering for flesh 
Daily glut with victims fresh, 
While, a wasting skeleton, 
Sullen Hunger gnaws his bone ! — 
If his moan ye will not hear, 
Or give answer with a sneer. 

As for Tom, the curate said, 
He was foolish and misled. 
It was utterest lack of sense 
To resort to violence ; 
It was useless ; and, beside, 
Howsoever justified 
The impoverished might be 
In resisting tyranny, 
Where the few held lordly sway, 
And the many must obey ; — 
In a commonwealth which has 
No hereditary class, 
And the veriest pauper there 
Might become a millionaire, — 
In a country where the poll 
To the people gives control, 
And the fortresses of law, 
Towers adamantine, draw 
Their impenetrable wall 
Round the equal rights of all, 
Madness was at highest pitch 
Whether men were poor or rich, 
To resort to force and war, 
Whatsoever it was for. 



432 LONDON BRIDGE. 

Still, not always could endure, 
The forbearance of the poor ! 
Men were better in their graves, 
Than to be but galley slaves ! 
Yet, upon the wail for food, 
There may rise a cry for blood ! — 
When insatiate Murder shall, 
In your streets hold carnival ! 
Then shall London Bridge go down, 
'Twixt the noble and the clown, 
'Twixt the rich in lordly state 
And the Lazarus at his gate ! 

Howsoe'er it come, be sure 
There is succor for the poor ! 
Strong must be the arm that stems 
In its wrath the flooded Thames ! 
Stronger far an arm that may 
Stem the floods that vengeful day ! 
Weighted with their shields and spears 
Sinks the sovereign with his peers ! 
Knight and champion, glaived and helmed, 
By the waves are overwhelmed ! 
They that in their chariots ride — 
Down they plunge beneath the tide ! 
So the surging sea shall go 
O'er the hosts of Pharaoh ! 
Horse and rider, overthrown, 
In the Red Sea shall they drown ! 
But, through seas of blood, shall God 
Lead his little ones, dry shod ! 

By the nymph Egeria taught, 
Thus the curate preached and wrought, 



LONDON BRIDGE. 433 

Thus he wisely sought to build 
London Bridge 'twixt guild and guild ! 

For heaven holds men of one degree, 
An equal born fraternity. 



LICHENS 



WE BE THE EARTH'S FIRST CHILDREN.* 

T 1 7E be the earth's first children 

Born of her longings 
After the beautiful, — 
Over the rugged rocks 

Rent by the frantic 
Hurricane, 
Weird crags, and splinters, 

Riven by Titan winters 
And throes gigantic, — 
Over the scattered bowlders 

Hurled from the mountain's shoulders 
By the fierce thunder : — 
Down from the mountains 

Edging the fountains 
Or ground under 
The foot of the glacier : — 

Over the pine trunks lying 

In the tonelly arroyas : — 
We over the tombstones creep 

* Unfinished. 



MEAT ON FRIDAT. 435 

And cover the flattering lies — 

And over the monuments : 
But the marble vaults wherein 

Are children lying asleep 
We screen from the wasting breath 

And the wanton touch of the years : 
And we blazon with green and gold 
The heraldry of God. 



MEAT ON FRIDAY. 

T TA ! ha ! I've found you out at last ! 

You're making this a high day, 
Instead of making it a fast ! 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 
Ah ! such deceit ! You're eating meat -— 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 

A devil's feast, as I'm a priest — 
This day apart — this by-day — 

Wherein our sinful passions rest ! — 
You're eating meat on Friday ! 

In lustful heat you're eating meat — 
You're eating meat on Friday ! 

You call yourself a Catholic ! 

You, Nicholas van Griday ! 
Earth open, and devour him quick ! 

He's eating meat on Friday ! 
Ah, Death is fleet ! You're eating meat 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 



436 LICHENS. 



And you, old woman ! Well you shrink — 

Dame Barbara van Griday ! 
Into the ground you ought to sink, 

For eating meat on Friday ! 
Dissembler ! cheat ! You're eating meat — . 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 

You fought in Tripoli, soldier Hans ! — 
Against Mahound, their High Dey ! 

You fought, too, in the war with France, 
Yet you eat meat on Friday ! 

Our foes you beat, and yet eat meat — 
E'en you eat meat on Friday ! 

My curse you can not 'scape, you Dan ! 

You strive the thing to hide, eh ? 
You well may wince beneath the ban — 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 
Yes, I repeat, you're eating meat — 

And eating meat on Friday ! 

And there's the red wine of the Rhine — 
This abstinence day — this dry day ! 

Ah, well you whine, dame Meyerstein ! 
You're drinking wine on Friday ! 

And there's the meat — with wine and wheat 
You're eating meat on Friday ! 

Dame Gretchen, you're a filthy wretch ! 

I thought you neat and tidy ! 
I see what to the dog you stretch — 

It's meat — and meat on Friday ! 



MEAT ON FRIDAY, 437 

That's wondrous meat ! You're eating meat — 
You're eating meat on Friday ! 

And Peter there behind your chair ! — 

This lentil day — this rye day — 
This day for pulse and simple fare — 

He's eating meat on Friday ! 
Shame on you, Pete ! You're eating meat — 

You're eating meat on Friday ! 

For you and yours, unhallowed boors, 

The judgment is a nigh day — 
I curse your baskets and your stores ! — 

You've eaten meat on Friday ! — 
Curse head and feet ! You've eaten meat 

And eaten meat on Friday ! 

Yet harm and hurt you may avert ; 

The church (it is not my day 
Which you pollute) will pardon you't — 

This eating meat on Friday ! 
To her escheat this wine and wheat — 

And all this meat on Friday — 

Our poor and holy brotherhood ! — 

Ah, mother church ! — on thy day 
They eat but thin and meagre food — 

They have no meat on Friday ! 
Take them this meat, and henceforth eat 

No meat — no meat on Friday ! 



438 LICHENS. 



THE GOOD. 

T I 7 HO for its own sake loves the good, is good. 
* ^ And always chooses good, and needeth not 
By formal resolution to determine 
Or this or that to do, if it be right 
But when occasion offers ever does it. 
But who resolves to-morrow or hereafter 
A new leaf to turn over, maketh not 
A virtuous but a wicked resolution, 
Without a whit of goodness in it ; for 
He chooses not the good as end, or else 
He would not till the morrow stay the doing, 
And choosing not the good as end, he is not 
E'en in the slightest atom virtuous, 
But pauseth on the hither side the stream — 
The great gulf — fixed between the good and ill — 
And crosses not the bridge that doth dispart 
The earthy, sensual, devilish realm of Self 
From the celestial boundaries of Love. 



WHITTIER'S "ETERNAL GOODNESS." 

TT is the law of crystals and of souls 
-*• That fellow will unto his fellow tend — 
And like to like. Imperial law controls — 
And thus the Quaker cometh to a Friend. 

Haply no Friend if judged by rigid rule 

Of sect. But Friend if she be Friend who leavens 



WHITTIER'S "ETERNAL GOODNESS:' 439 

With love his life — Friend of the choicest school, 
Or by the poet's standard, or by heaven's. 

Let Arch street meeting only those admit 

Whose dove hued bonnet and whose dress precise 

Are of the mode and standard fixed by it : 
Tis said the rule is different in the skies, — 

That there a dove like soul is valued more 
Than dove like color ; and that simple dress 

Will less affect the angel at the door 

Than simple love and simple truthfulness. 

And so our poet's spirit the confines 

Of sect outsteps, and leapeth o'er the wall 

To meet with goodness midway twixt the lines 
Of narrowness ecclesiastical, — 

And finds her there midway. And as he would, 
Were it himself, receive the Friend in her, 

Her heart will recognize the churchman good, 
Whate'er the creed he holds, in Whittier. 

O fit the hour therefor ! The Christmas chime 
Chords with the music from the Quaker's pen — 

The constant burden of whose varying rhyme 

Is — " Peace on Earth, and Good Will unto men." 

As if the anthem that once filled the skies 
Still sought its wondrous cadence to prolong, 

As if an angel in a Quaker's guise 

Still sang to eager eons the olden song. 



44° LICHENS. 



A SERMON. 
Written in an Album. 

'"PHOUGH often unto memory 
A Our early days seem pleasant, 
As desert unto cultured lea 
Are they unto the present. 

I mean not that the face of youth 

Has not a certain beauty ; 
But age is more conformed to truth, 

To love, and law, and duty. 

Tho' later life has something lost, 

The fully ripe persimmon 
Is toothsomest when touched with frost ; 

And so with men and women. 

The blossom in the spring-time glints : 
The young fruit shines with greenness 

Both lack the richer, riper tints 
Of autumnly sereneness. 

To wish to live our youth again 
Would have as much consistence, 

As would to wish the race of men 
Their early "ape existence." 

'Tis better far, when what we were 

The riper time displaces, 
And earnest lines of character 

Are written in our faces. 



TO CALVIN L. PORTER. 44 1 



Yes, better, when our foreheads are 
All o'er with thought engraven, 

And Time, the angel, letters there 
The signature of Heaven. 

The fruits their richest color gain 
Where sweeps the storm severest ; 

And O, we bitterly attain 

To purest thought and clearest. 

Thrice happy he, who this has learned : 
The flame destroys the slashes ; 

And, where the fires have deepest burned, 
The soil is rich with ashes. 

The plowshare rends the shrinking sward, - 

The soul is sown with sorrow, 
That thus a harvest to the Lord, 

May wave in some to-morrow. 



TO CALVIN L. PORTER, 

Student of Medicine. 
I. 

A DEVOTEE, with bloody knife, 

With symbol on thy brow and breast, 
Thou comest to the Fane of Life, 
And at its oracle makest quest. 

n. 
Here science sits a goddess, and 

Still veils her legends in eclipse, 
And only he can understand, 

Who learns his lore of Nature's lips. 



442 



LICHENS. 



III. 

The blood wherewith thy hands are wet, 

Is not of murder ; for above 
Thy brow the seal of Thought is set, 

And o'er thy heart is that of Love. 

-IV. 

Opens for thee the polished wall — 
The wondrous fabric of the skin ; — 

And to thy sight uncover all 
The secret mysteries within. 

v. 
The pillared ivory that sustains 

The dome o'erarching : bone and bone 
Inlinked : their sutures and their veins : — 

Thou, reverent, not'st them one by one. 

VI. 

Thou tracest to their origin, 

Through silvern ducts the floods of blue 
And purple, that from founts within 

Gurgle and pulse the temple through. 

VII. 

The tree of life, whose branches strike 

Down from the dome — that from the brain 

Drops its long tendrils, willow like, 
Like banyan boughs to mount again. 

VIII. 

All this thou mark'st, — with zeal to force 

The secrets or of god or elf, 
And to discern the very source 

Of vital energy itself. 



TO CALVIN L. PORTER. 443 

IX. 

Nor ceases there thy willing task — 

" What is the nature of disease ? 
Its symptoms what ? " I hear thee ask — 

" Whence comes it ? What its remedies ? " 

x. 

The search is long — the quest is hard — 
The long-wooed sprite responds at length, 

And, smiling, gives thee thy reward — 
A soul self-poised in light and strength. 

XI. 

Humbly thou entered, bowing down — 
And lo ! — thou comest forth a king ! 

She places on thy brow her crown, 
Upon thy hand her signet ring. 

XII. 

"I crown thee not," she says, "because 
Thou hast all wisdom. But a glance 

Hast thou as yet at Nature's laws, 
Nor knowest thine own ignorance. 

XIII. 

" But this : thou hast outgrown the stays 
Of schools, and this hast learned of me : — 

• One little grain of fact outweighs 
A frigate load of theory ! ' 

XIV. 

" Go, Science-crowned ! Triumphant go ! 

Victor where'er diseases are ! 
And but the one unvanquished foe — 

Death ! — be seen shadowy from afar ! " 



444 LICHENS. 



JIMMY O'NEIL. 

Spadra, Cal., September i, 1S77. 

TTAVE you never heard of Jimmy O'Neil? 

He was the brave Chicago lad, 
That proved himself as true as steel, 

In the face of a mob embrutened and mad. 

It was the time of the terrible strike, 

When in its fury contagious and fell, 
It rolled from the Pittsburg furnaces like 

A tidal wave from the gates of hell ! 

It was at the bridge of Halsted street ; 

The mob were gathered the other side ; 
As wolves at bay, in a rocky retreat, 

Police and soldiery they defied ! 

Natural born the children of crime ! 

Children of crime, and nursed at her dugs ! 
Wharf-rats, bred in the river slime ! — 

Vagabonds ! — renegades ! — hoodlums and thugs ! 

Grimed with dirt, and with rags bedight, 
Empty of pocket and hungry of maw, 

Little they cared for justice and right, 
Little cared they for order and law ! 

Bricks and shot, in a heavy shower, 
Filled the air from the surging mass ! 

The mob was strong and felt its power, 

For turned was the bridge, and none could pass ! 



JIMMT O'NEIL. 44$ 



Surging and roaring, like the flood 

That beats the beach of the swollen main, 

Clamored the beast for bread and blood ! — 
And some were wounded and some were slain ! 

Helpless police and soldiery stand ; 

For the bridge still lies in the midst of the stream 
Like a whale selfstranded upon the sand, 

Or a merchantman lying upon her beam. 

Ten years old is Jimmy O'Neil, 

But he is courageous, and he can swim ! 

He can loosen the bridge, and can make it wheel 
Quick to the shore, if they'll leave it to him ! 

Quickly spoken, and as quickly done ! 

Off with his jacket, and over he goes ! 
And brave men cheer for the little one, 

As he dares undaunted a myriad foes ! 

Quickly said, and as quickly done ! 

The bridge swings round, and the mob retreat ! 
And before there is time to fire a gun, 

They have scattered dismayed and emptied the 
street ! 

Hurra ! hurra for Jimmy O'Neil ! — 

That dared the infuriate mob to face ! 
Brave as a lion and true as steel, 

In heart, and in history, give him a place ! 



446 LICHENS. 



SWEET THE GRAVE. 

CWEET — sweet the grave ! Sweet — sweet to me 

*-* The sands of the eternal sea ! — 

To feel the pains of life depart 

From my too sorely burdened heart — 

To see the gloom of night and mist 

Break into gold and amethyst — 

To watch the light of dawning bliss 

Shoot up its spray from the abyss ! — 

And hear your dash upon the shore, 

O happy waves of evermore ! 

Hail pallid brow and peaceful, where 
No more shall come a trace of care ! 
O eyes, that nevermore shall weep, 
How sweet to you the kiss of sleep ! 
O folded hands ! how blest — how blest, 
To be forevermore at rest ! 
Your gentle touch shall ne'er offend 
Henceforth the feelings of a friend ! 
O cold — cold lips ! No more ye press 
The kiss of love and tenderness ! 
And yet, methinks, ye sometimes seek 
Another's lip — another's cheek ! 

It were not hard for me to die — 
Nay, it were bliss for me to lie 
In yonder grave, and hear the tread 
Of evening breezes near my head ; 
And watch in his blue heights afar, 
The coming of the evening star, — 



ACROSTIC. 447 



If then another, she whose eye 
Reigns the one star of all my sky, — 
Whose tread — no zephyr's foot can fall 
So faun-like and ethereal — 
If sometimes should that gentle form, 
As angel pure, and mortal warm, — 
Approach my grave, and kneeling near, 
Whisper the word I fain would hear. 



ACROSTIC. 

T7ULALIE ! — such thy name to mortal men ; 
Mayhap with angels thine a different name - 
I saw in thee another dawning, when 
Led by my star, thou to my presence came, 
Yclad with graces, all a child of Eve may claim : 

Lo the fair morning from the empurpled meads, 
Yclad in light, mounts the day-star to meet : 
Delights are dancing to her golden reeds : 
I see the roses of her dainty feet, 
And all her perfect form, unutterably sweet : — 

Perhaps the day thou bringest can but end 
In the fair gardens of Hesperides : 
Perhaps our lives may with each other blend, 
Even as evening breeze with evening breeze, 
Rich and replete with joy and golden harmonies. 



44$ LICHENS. 



MY OWN. 
TV JY spirit was sad, and I sought my bird, 

And asked her to give me a cheering word ; 
She blushed like a cloud at the kiss of the sun, 
And stooping — the darling ! — she wrote me one : 
With love and kindness the dear eyes shone, 
And flashed from the fairy-like fingers " My own ! " 
Dear Nem ! she has given me scepter and throne ! 
She called me her own ! she called me her own ! 

Then vanished the gloom from my soul straightway, 

And I have been happy and proud all day ! 

I'll cherish and guard the love-luminous line, 

O queen and blessing ! I'm thine ! I am thine ! 

I'll guard the guerdon my whole life long ! 

And ever my lips shall renew the song ! 

With gems and with blossoms my pathway is strown 

For Nem has called me her own ! — her own ! 



FOR MY DARLING. 
pVENING kisses the sea; 

Mists are kissing the flowers ; 
I must kiss thee 

Love, amid the bowers ! 
Yes ! — darling ! — thee ! 

Linger, darling awhile 

Yet — I pray thee, nor leave me ! 
Deign me one smile ! 

In thine arms enweave me ! 
Ah ! — for love's smile ! 



WHERE IS MY NEM? 449 

Pearl, and lily, and light ! — 

Idyll incarnate of kindness ! — 
Pardon Love's rite ! 

Even to Love in his blindness ! 
Rose-bud ! Good night. 



WHERE IS MY NEM? 

"\ \ THO has met a lady fair 

As the forms that angels wear ? 

Lend thy pencil, Fantasie, 

While I paint my fleur-de-lis. 
Hands as white as whitest wool, 
Delicate and beautiful ; 

Ripening chestnuts seek to wear 

The rich luster of her hair ; — 

Hair so fine, the gossamers 

Would exchange their own for hers : 

Eyes of heaven's summer hue, 

Mist-veiled, thoughtful, tender, true : 
Never sweeter nectar drips 
Than the nectar of her lips : 
Zephyrs of the fragrant south 
Are the breathings of her mouth : 
Not the clover on the heath, 
Has the whiteness of her teeth ; 

Through the peach-blooms of her cheek 

Roses play at hide and seek. 

Not a novice is my pearl — 
Not a gay and giddy girl : 



450 LICHENS. 



But she wears a brow inwrought 

With the dignity of thought. 
Nature gave to her its best, 
Ripening years have done the rest, 
Till she lacketh naught of good 
In her perfect womanhood ! 
Who hath met with one like this ? 
Tell me — tell me where she is ! 



MY TREASURE. 

/^OME, soft south wind, come from the breezy lake, 

And gently sooth my darling, lest she wake. 
Leave the light nymphs that wanton o'er the deeps, 
And fan the couch where fair Enone sleeps. 

Ye moon-beams pale that linger near her face, 
And wear thenceforth yourselves a sweeter grace, 
No marvel that ye leave your starry steeps, 
If ye may come where my beloved sleeps. 

Ye unseen angels, unto whom 'tis given 

To tread the stair that leads from earth to heaven, 

Until the day star from her chamber peeps 

Watch o'er my pearl — my treasure while she sleeps. 

Ye floating clouds that fleck the skies above, 
Lightly enveil the form of her I love, 
Lest the rude Day come near her as he sweeps 
The darkness, and disturb her as she sleeps. 



TO MT WIFE. 451 



TO MY WIFE. 

Christmas, 187S. With a Porte-monnaie. 

'THE skilled in legendary lore 

Report that elves and urchins hold, 
Concealed in mountain crypts, a store 
Of priceless gems and flashing gold. 

Employ some elf, my dear, to heed 
And keep your wallet clasp secure, — 

To only open at your need, 
Or for the succor of the poor. 

Not Fantasy — a spendthrift she, 

Who'll make sad havoc with your stuff ! 

I know an elf, — frugality, — 

Who'll serve your purpose well enough. 

A useful steward : in his eyes 

You'll see the glint of honest sense : 

He'll make your treasure surely rise, 
And will not starve benevolence. 

But me — ah me ! — there is no gnome 
Will stand as sponsor to my screed ; 

No elf will to my rescue come, 

And teach me how to reck my rede. 

Yet — happy me ! — the hills amid, 
There is no gnome or mountain elf, 

Who has so dear a jewel hid, 

As is my choicest one — yourself. 



452 LICHENS. 



That I'll not trust to elfin art, 
Lest it elude the cunning grasp ; 

And so I'll hide you in my heart, 
And nevermore undo the clasp. 



ACROSTIC. 

"P L. M ! the Woods as sovereign own thee ! 

Many blossoms crowd to crown thee ! 
Ivy wreathes its garlands o'er thee ; 
Larkspurs spring in joy before thee ! 
Yews a yeoman's homage tender ; 
Lilies, all their silvery splendor ! 
Mignonettes their fragrance breathe thee ! 
Amaranths with glory wreathe thee ! 
Roses pledge their heart's blood for thee ! 
Tulips stand in ranks to adore thee ! 
Lilacs yield thee purple royal, 
Iris swears allegiance loyal ! 
Never flower of field or wolden, 
Gift and homage hath withholden. 



WRITTEN IN KATIE'S ALBUM. 

T F I could see thee — if twere mine, 
A Upon thy head my hand to hold, 
And feel on mine the Touch Divine, 
As did the patriarch of old ; — 

If Heaven would send its largess down, 
To bless whomso my words had blessed ; 

And gifts and graces would encrown 

The tresses where my palms had pressed ; 



THE TRAMP. 453 



A blessing would I have for thee : 
I'd lay my hand upon thy brow, 

And pray that thou might ever be 
As hopeful and as pure as now ; — 

That, as, beneath the winter snows, 
The woodland doth its life retain, 

And with the spring awakes and glows 
In its own loveliness again ; — 

E'en thus thy spirit's life may be 

Still heavenward reaching bud and shoot, 

And watching opportunity 

To bless the world with bloom and fruit ; - 

For this — I but repeat again 

The lesson Wisdom spake of yore — 

" Love God, and love thy fellowmen " — 
Who dare say less ? Who can say more ? 

So shall thy life be sweetly passed, 
Without regret unstained of sin ; 

And so the Morn of Youth shall last 
Until the Morn Eterne begin. 



THE TRAMP. 

1SS0. 
[Wendell Phillips in one of his New York lectures, said — "A prominent New 
York. Journal philanthropically said of tramps — ' The only good thing to be 
done with them is to shoot them ! ' " 

"DEGGAR, you say — in the entry ? A tramp ? 

How did it happen if you were about ? 
I would have speedily made him decamp ! 
Hurry this minute, and hustle him out ! 



454 LICHENS. 



Out with him instantly ! Give him a kick ! 

Here is a stick to belabor the clown ! 
Drat it ! — these paupers are getting too thick ! 

Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em down ! 

Starvi?ig his wife is — he says : On my life ! 

If there were impudence ever, it's his ! 
Wife is it ! what does he want of a wife ? 

He should be single — my Chinaman is. 
Show him the rifle — aha but he'll run ! 

Vagabonds ! Gad ! — if I could I would drown, 
Shoot them, or throttle them, every one ! — 

Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em down ! 

Some of these fellows are ugly as sin ! 

Maybe it's better to follow and help 
Cudgel the caterwaul out of his chin : 

It will be cheap at a dollar a yelp ! 
Gone is he ? — out ? — and with nevei a doubt 

Dick with his bludgeon is basting him brown ! 
Little I care what he does to the lout ! 

Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em down ! 

Bang ! — that is good — you have killed him I hope ! 

Ha ! have you really ? What ! is he dead ? 
That's rather bad, and may threaten a rope ! 

Accident — nobody saw — 'nough said! 
Accident, plainly — however I fear 

Some one will see him in passing from town : 
Bother the pother of renegades here ! 

Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em down ! 

Well, I will help you — he's heavy for one ! 

Why — what is this — there's a scar on his cheek 



THE TRAMP'S VIEW OF IT. 455 

Such as my brother had ! What have you done ? — 
Murderer ! — villain ! O John, can you speak ? 

Death ! — and so sudden ! The enamel's eclipse 
Evermore on these eyes ! — and the frown 

Chiding my words from unbrotherly lips — 

" Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em 
down!" 

It was too late ! From the portals of death 

Those we have injured can never return ! 
Words, were they ? — thoughtless ? Our words are the 
breath 

Fierce from the caverns of hell that will burn 
Conscience too deep for forgiveness to cure ; — 

Wreathing a whirlwind of curses to crown 
Life, if we say of our brothers — the poor, — 

"Crush 'em, and cramp 'em, and trample 'em 
down!" 



THE TRAMP'S VIEW OF IT. 

"But God is good, and hearts may count in heaven as high as heads."- 
Charles Dickens. 
" The Son of Man hath not where to lay his head." — Jesus Christ 

A \ 7 HEN rheumatism racks our backs, 

We shiver with the cold, 
And crouch beneath the frosty stacks 

To sniff the dust and mold. 
The nabob ! — he is warm, and wound 

In downy flannel spreads ; — 
But God is good, and hearts may count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 



45 6 LICHENS. 

The nabob's shirt is finest flax, 

His coat of broadcloth fine ; 
Our raiment, ragged barley sacks, 

Tied up with bits of twine. 
He holds us vagrants, — worthless as 

The dirt on which he treads ; — 
But God is good, and hearts may count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 

His turtle soup the nabob smacks ; 

He munches venison chine ; 
His nuts he cracks ; he nips his snacks, 

And sips his cobwebbed wine. 
A dry crust is a dinner for 

Your vulgar Mikes and Teds ; — 
But God is good, and hearts may count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 

When times are hard, and business slacks, 

And scanty is our bread, 
We shoeless tramp the railway tracks, 

And wish that we were dead, 
Then legal spiders sit and mesh 

For us their dirty threads ; — 
But God is good, and hearts may count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 

They burden us with heavy packs ; 

They drive us with a goad ; 
As patient Jacks we bear the thwacks, 

And never cast the load. 
They reckon us, as up they mount, 

For toads and centipeds ; — 



THE TRAMP'S VIEW OF IT. 457 

But God is good, and hearts will count 
In Heaven as high as heads. 

With hacks and whacks of hoe and ax, 

We slave, — their servile tools : 
The labor of our hands they tax, 

And reckon us for fools. 
We ? — they the fools ! Stern Justice shall 

Rend all their shams to shreds ; 
For God is good, and hearts shall count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 

Go to ! — the poor man nothing lacks 

Of wisdom : but the rich 
Are fools : — their legal sealing wax 

The very devil's pitch. 
But all comes right at last ! This fount 

Of light its radiance spreads : — 
That God is good, and hearts will count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 



Death ! — death is near ! The pale bivouacs 

Give rest to weary tramps ; 
And rigid social lines relax 

Within the silent camps. 
And men shall see, when Gabriel wakes 

The sleepers from their beds, 
That God is good, and hearts will count 

In Heaven as high as heads. 



458 LICHENS. 



TRUMAN GRIFFIN. 



OLD GRIF ! —frozen to death 
In sight of Truckee ! His cries for aid 
Might have been heard by the folks of the town, 
But the shrieks of the storm blast smothered them 
down ; 
For the night was wild, and the tempest made 
The strongest and bravest to be afraid, 
And listen and shiver with bated breath. 

Two score years had he dwelt 

By the seething fountains of lake Tahoe : 
Back and forth, and forth and back, 
He had threaded the tortuous mountain track : 
Hundreds of times in the summer's glow 
Hundreds of times through blinding snow, 
As if, like a beast, the trail he smelt. 

Naught asked he of the day, 

Whether the light was clear or dim, 
Every boulder of every spur, 
Patch of pine and clump of fir, 
Blackened stump and broken limb, 
As his mother's face was familiar to him, 
Yet dazed and bewildered he lost his way. 

Storm trained, starting from home 

At dawn of day, he had faced the blast : 
At four o'clock in the afternoon 
He was five miles out — he would be in soon : 
The doctor's home he was safely past : 



TRUMAN GRIFFIN. 459 

Fierce blew the gale, and the snow fell fast, 
And whirled and howled, like a cataract's foam ! 

Cold ! — cold ! — cold ! As a vice 

Stiffened his hand to the rigid rein, 
And his feet in the stirrups were set and numb, 
And his lips clung tight to tooth and gum, 
And his frozen ears had ceased to pain, 
And his head seemed frozen, and even his brain 
Seemed held with the grip of bands of ice. 

Cold ! — cold ! Bitter the cold ! 

And the living marten tied in a sack 
To be carried to town was frozen stiff, 
And the horse that was ridden by poor old Grif 
Blundered around in the selfsame track , 
And refused to advance, affrighted back, 
As loosed from his feet was the avalanche rolled ! 

Poor Grif struggled benumbed 

Down from his steed to search for the road ! 
Well he knew what spectre grim 
With ice cold fingers was waiting for him ! 
Horror and nameless agony showed 
In his face as his shroud was round him snowed, 
And sense grew dull, and the spirit succumbed. 

Poor Grif struggled awhile — 

Struggled and fell, and still in despair 
He crawled and crawled on his hands and knees, 
Into the drifts, to smother and freeze ! 

And the white snow lay on his snow white hair, 
And the old man's soul ? — did it grow more fair, 
As the snow would grow in the morning's smile ? 



460 LICHENS. 



Poor Grif — freezing to death ! 

Ere on foot he had staggered away, 
Soon to become but a snow pale corse, 
Had spread his great coat over his horse, 
And thus in the snow drift coatless lay ! 
Happy for him in the judgment day ! — 
Happy for him if the judge shall say, 
"Blessed the merciful be, for they 
Shall mercy obtain," as the scripture saith. 



SERGEANT KIRKLAND. 

TT was the day — the awful day 
A That followed on the day of blood, 
And groaning in the clammy flood 
At Fredericksburg the wounded lay. 

For Burnside had his soldiery hurled, 
Where column after column fell ! 
Mortal, but all invincible, 

Their story thrilled the astonished world. 

Kershaw's brigade was holding still, 
As hunters hid from huddled grouse, 
The grounds surrounding Marye's house, 

And filled the road 'neath Marye's hill. 

Here had they poured, as Autumn sleet, 
Their murderous fire, while they were all 
Hidden and safe behind the .wall, 

And mowed the foe as Autumn wheat. 



SERGEANT KIRKLAND. 46 1 

Still waved before their stars and bars 

The stars and stripes, with stalwart guards ; 
For Sykes was there, but seven score yards 

In front, and Union regulars. 

And all day long, as lurking elves 

From coppices, the bullets leaped, 

Fatal to all that heedless stepped, 
And but a moment showed themselves. 

And all day long the wounded lay 
Helpless betwixt the lines ; and cries 
Of " Water — water ! " pierced the skies — 

Dispiteous — the long, long day. 

'Twas afternoon : The general sat 

And scanned the field where lay the dead 
And dying : Kirkland, entering, said : 

" General, I can't — I can't stand that ! " 

Dick Kirkland, but a boy in years ; 
The son of old John Kirkland he, 
And sergeant in Kennedy's company (E), 

South Carolina volunteers. 

Kershaw felt all the care and all 

The toil with which his troops were tasked : 
"What is the matter, sergeant ? " asked 

The sympathetic general. 

The sergeant said : " The long night through — 
The day through — I have heard the cry 
Of these poor men for water, I 

Must help them. Let me, general : do ! " 



462 LICHENS. 



O, noble looked the general ! 

"And don't you know," he kindly said, 
" You'd get a bullet through your head, 

The moment you stepped o'er the wall ? " 

" Yes, sir ! I know I may be hit ; 

But then a soldier dares to die, 

Even for foes. I'd like to try, 
If you would only suffer it." 

The general : " Kirkland, I ought not 

Allow you such a risk to run, 

But still the deed's a noble one ! 
Go ! Shield you, God, from being shot ! " 

Glad and surprised at such response, 

The sergeant's eyes with pleasure lighted : 
"Thank you," he said, and down stairs flitted ; 

But back he came, two steps at once, 

Stopped at the door, looked in, and said : 

" General, can I hold a white 

Pocket-handkerchief in sight ? " 
The general : " No," and shook his head. 



" Kirkland you can not do that." Then 
Kirkland said cheerfully, " All right ! 
I'll take the chances ! " and with bright 

Eyes ran smiling down again. 

O with what wistfulness did we all 
Watch him as boldly on he kept, 
And on his errand of mercy stepped, 

Like Mercy's angel, o'er the wall. 



SERGEANT KIR KL AND. 463 

Watched, as he passed : as though he were 
With Heaven's invincible harness armed, 
Passed 'mid a storm of shot unharmed, 

And reached the nearest sufferer, 

And knelt beside him tenderly, 

And placed the drooping head at rest 
On his own gentle and loving breast ; 

And soldiers' eyes grew moist to see. 

He poured the grateful water down 
The feverish and scorching throat ; 
Then placed the knapsack and the coat 

Tenderly 'neath the suffering one, 

And took a new canteen, and turned 

To aid another ; but he bore 

That and the rest securely ; for 
His purpose now was well discerned. 

There was no danger more. Fell Slaughter 
Herself could not have borne the cry 
Unmoved — the shriek of agony : 

" Water ! water ! for God's sake, water ! " 

None could endure, and none withstand 

The mute appeal of helplessness 

Of dying eyes in their distress, 
Or pitiful uplifted hand. 

He, for an hour and longer, healed 

Their woes, nor ceased to come and go ; 
But aided, passing to and fro, 

All in that quarter of the field, 



464 LICHENS. 



And then came back unhurt. What else 
Remains there to be said ? How well 
At Gettysburg he fought — how fell 

At Chickamauga, history tells. 

O war ! however hateful is 
Thy very name to us, we can 
Forgive thee much for such a man — 

For such a glorious deed as his. 

There is no nobler style of man ! 
My country, be thy boast and pride, 
That they who fought on either side 

Are brothers, and American. 



SAN ANTONIO. 

Spadra, Cal., 1879. 

'T^HIS is the mount that yesterday 

Was hid in cloud ! and down its sides 
Trooped phantom hosts, in mantles grey, 
Through riven clouds and spouting tides. 

And o'er its crest, with bristling wing, 
The raven of the tempest swept, 

While frightened winds fled fluttering, 
Or through the coppiced canyons crept. 

But now, in noonday sheen, it glows 
From base to summit, as the throne 

Of Gabriel ; or as its snows 

With shivered rainbows were bestrown. 



THE MILLER. 465 



Or as the storms had in despair 
Fled from the glances of the sun, 

And cast their shields and lances there, 
With bright cuirass and gonfalon. 

For, be the sky as many hued 

And changeable as Autumn fronds, 

The mountain answers, mood for mood, 
And from his granite heart responds. 

Majestic mount ! Cloud-veiled, dost thou 
Above the pave by angels trod, 

As Moses, lift thine awful brow, 

And, face to face, converse with God ? 

And then, with ecstacy aglow, 

Forth from the vision come again, 

While light ineffable falls below 
On the enraptured gaze of men ? 

O, ever beautiful ! in storms 

Or sunshine robed ! The cloudy rack, 
The opal sheen, are but the forms 

Of Heaven's beauty mirrored back ! 



THE MILLER. 

Dramatis Person/e: 
Chancellor. King Frederic. 

Justice Albrict. Justice Conrad. 

Justice Bauer. The Miller. 

[This scene, taken from the life of Frederic the Great, was hastily arranged for 
a school exhibition, and not for this volume, but I have taken the liberty to insert 
it for the benefit of teachers on like occasions. — E. L. M.] 

Chan. A miller sue a lord ! What impudence ! 
My fellow judges and my worthy peers 
It passes all — it overleaps the bound 



466 LICHENS. 



Which nature fixed, when fitting some for rank 
And some for menial service, she ordained 
These to command, the others to obey. 

A. It doth so. 

Chan. And all the sacred heritage of law, 
And all the safety of our several rights, 
The very crown, the very realm itself, 
Will be endangered by such innovations, — 

A. (That's true enough.) 

Chan. As that a rustic and unlettered hind 
May face a peer in court. I wait your voice. 

B. It doth appear from evidence and plea 
As well as from our record, that the counts 
Ancestral, whence the Baron Rosenbaum 
Derives his name, did grant unto this mill 
Usance of water, rights riparian, 

Way for its sluices, raceways, weirs and flumes, 
Waver of rights to damage when the flood 
Should trespass on the vintage of the corn — 
Together with all hereditaments 
Belonging to the land, — and this for rent 
Of seven sacks of meal, a hundred florins, 
And seven barleycorns. 

C. An ample rent. 

B. The present lord made for an adornment 
To his fair forestry, a fishing pond, 
And by his prior and baronial right 
Which none of us may question, he did take 
The water for it ; whereupon this miller 
Did fail to pay, and like a mongrel cur 
Robbed of his bone, goes whining up and down — 
He can not grind and can not pay his rent. 



THE MILLER. 467 



C. There's an ungrateful fellow for you. 

B. There is indeed! His rent, it is his lord's — 
The water if he get it, it is his : 
And if he get it not, the loss is his. 

A. For whose else could it be ? 

B. And so the Baron hath my voice. 
A. And mine. 

C And yet the miller can not pay his rent 
Because he cannot grind. I tell you, lords, 
The good Christ will not suffer that his poor 
Shall always cry. The poor and rich 
Are equal in his sight. My judgment is 
This lord must yield his water to the mill 
Or else abandon all his claim for rent. 

Chan. It shall be told unto King Frederic 
How you, a judge of his creation, stoop 
To underlings and lackeys. 

C. And if it be, King Frederick shall hear 
How you, his chancellor, grind his loyal subjects 
And cringe before the great, and lick the dust. 

Chan. The Court decides, and thus it shall go forth 
Despite this pauper miller's advocate, that all 
The Baron claims is his. — The miller shall 
Pay him his rental, as at first agreed, 
And pay beside the cost. Is this our voice ? 

A. My lord 'tis mine. 

B. And mine. 

C. It is not mine ! 
Chan. So shall it stand. 

King. Conrad. Miller. 
K. Well, miller, so you wish to speak with Fritz. 
If you are in the right, 'tis well ; and you 



468 LICHENS. 



Shall have all justice done you, but if wrong, 

I'll have you whipped till the blood runs. Howsoe'er 

Speak up and fear not. You've an honest look. 

M. O gracious majesty, my father left, — ■ 
As had his father and his father's father 
Left prior heritage, — a little mill 
To me, his son, and I did live thereby. 
The brooklet, that did lend its native force, 
And willing turned from playing over rocks 
And dallying with roses, to become 
My willing drudge, had been my playfellow 
And I did love it — suddenly it wasted, 
Sickened and paled in the sun, and pined and died. 
And I was friendless left, without my stream, 
And pauper left, without my willing thrall. 
I could not grind, for that my water failed. 
And then I learned that the seignorial lord, 
From whose most noble ancestors my sires 
Received their rights, had taken my dear brook 
To fill a fish pond. 

K. The tyrant ! 

M. But not only so, 

His steward came thereafter to demand 
The annual rent, which, when I could not pay, 
Because my revenues were all dried up, 
Whereas the stream ran dry, and my mill wheel 
Had ceased his song and toil. — "/ could not pay ! " 
Exclaimed the steward. Then would he seize on 
The mill, and hold it for the debt until 
Payment be made. 

K. Enough — Enough — 
You shall have speedy justice. 



THE MILLER. 469 



Have you examined this affair, my lord, 
And satisfied yourself ? 

C. Your majesty, I have. 

K. And know the miller hath the right of it ? 

C. I know the miller hath the right of it. 

K. Where are his judges then ? 

C. They are at the door. 

K. Summon them instantly ! 

{Enter judges) 

K. Look here sirs, what a botching ye have made ! 
This is your justice, is it ? This the way 
Ye wrest the law to vileness ! May a miller 
Who has no water, and so cannot grind, 
Be ousted of his mill and forfeit that ? 
Call you that just ? Here is a nobleman 
Wishing to make a fish pond. He to get 
More water for his pond, digs him a ditch, 
To draw the water from a little stream 
That drives a mill. The miller thereby loses 
His water, and he can no longer grind. 
In spite of this it is pretended that 
The miller shall his rental pay, the same 
As when he had full water for his mill : 
Of course he cannot pay his rent — because 
His income is all gone ! 

And what does this your Court of Customs do ? 
It issues mandate that the mill be sold 
In order that the nobleman may have 
His rent ! Do you sir, go ! — this instant go ! — 
About your business ! Your successor is 
Appointed ! I'll have nothing more to do 
With you ! — or you ! — or you ! — Begone I say ! 



470 LICHENS. 



Out of my sight ! — I will example make 
That shall not be forgotten. 

[To Conrad.} — You I call into my special service. 
[Exeujit Chan, and Judges. ~\ 
[To the New Chancellor^ — Sit and write 
What I command you. 

It is the king's desire 
And ever was, that all, or high or low, 
Or rich or poor, receive the promptest justice, 
And therefore in respect of this decree, — 
This wicked sentence 'gainst the miller Arnold, 
Pronounced in the New Mark, and confirmed 
Here in Belin, his majesty hath bid 
And will establish an emphatic instance 
Exemplary and precedent, that all 
The courts of justice in the provinces 
May warning take thereby, and not commit 
Like glaring, unjust acts. For let them bear 
In mind that the least peasant — yea and more, 
A beggar, is a human being, even 
No less than his majesty, and one 
To whom due justice must be meted out, 
And all men equal being before the law, 
If 'tis a prince complaining 'gainst a peasant, 
Or vice versa, prince and peasant are one, 
Let courts take this for rule; and whensoe'er 
They fail in any-wise to carry out 
Justice in manner most direct, regardless 
Of person or of rank, they shall have cause 
To answer to his majesty therefor. 

Miller, your mill is yours, and your supply 
Of water from the brook shall be as full — 



CHRIS. DEAN. 47 1 



As free and spontaneous as when 
A boy you gambolled with it, and as when 
It made your manhood rich with manuary toil. 
M. May bounteous heaven bless your majesty ! 



CHRIS. DEAN. 

'T^ALK of dauntlessness in the field ; 
Talk of the heroes North and South, 
Who looked at Death in the cannon's mouth. 

And faced the foe, and would not yield. 

The battle field has never seen 

A braver or a manlier man, 

A larger hearted hero, than 
The hero-engineer, Chris. Dean. 

An error from the lightnings flashed — 

Some mocking fiend the lines bestrode — 
And on a Pennsylvania road, 

Near Cameron Mills, two freight trains clashed. 

Chris. Dean was engineer of one ; 

And, wedged his engine's wreck beneath, 
And crunched betwixt its cruel teeth, 

He and his fireman were held down. 

The fireman, buried to the chin, 

Lay, by the fragments nearly hid ; 
Dean's arms were free ; one leg amid 

The broken wheels was fastened in. 



472 LICHENS. 



He wrenched his body half around, 

And reached his box of tools, and rove 
The cover off, and then he strove 

To free his mate — and thus was found. 

And when help came, as soon as he 

Beheld them, what a heartful shout 
From self -forgetful Dean rang out ; 

" Help — help poor Jim ! — and don't mind me ! 

Quickly the fireman was freed — 

Shattered as was the crushed machine — 
Unconscious. Then heroic Dean 

Was taken out ; and there was need. 

They saw, but knew not by a lisp 

From him, that all the time that he 
Had worked to set the fireman free, 

His leg was burning to a crisp ! — 

Held in the fire-box ! But no groan 
Revealed, what pitiful 'twas to see, 
A sickening cinder — from the knee 

Downward — of smoking flesh and bone ! 

O, noble deed ! Who hears of it 

Shall hold a higher thought of man ! 
It speaks of more than sermons can, 

And sheds a light on holy writ ! 

For, dimly may our wit discern 

The sense at which the teaching aimed 
That told us of the halt and maimed 

That enter into life eterne. 



THE KE. 473 



While such men be, there is no lack 
Of heroes ; there has been no fall 
From our great sires, nor need we call 

A fancied golden era back. 



In all immortal Homer's verse 
Of such a deed no record is ; 
Only less god-like than was his 

Who, dying, blessed his murderers. 



THE KE. 

'T^HE fisherman sitteth by the ke, 

And all the day long fisheth he : 
The sky above and the wave below 
Are in the summer light aglow : 
Yet little doth the fisherman care 
For aught in the wave or aught in the air ; 
For his eye is wandering down the bay, 
He thinketh of somewhat far away. 

The stranger cometh to the ke, 

And looketh anxiously toward the sea, 

" Is that a vessel adown the bay ? 

If aught thou seest, tell me, pray ! " 

" I can see as far as another can, 

But naught see I," quoth the fisherman, 

" Only the waves and the breaker's spray. 

Beyond the island, far away." 

The stranger sitteth upon the ke, 
Beside the fisherman, knee to knee, 



474 LICHENS. 

" How clear and fair the water is : 

It is not always thus, I wis." 

" The sky is clear and the air is warm, 

But I think the clouds betoken a storm." 

The stranger looketh adown the bay, 

He thinketh of somewhat far away. 

There he sitteth upon the ke 
Watching the clear wave dreamily. 
" And when the storm sweeps on the coast, 
Doth it sometimes chance a vessel is lost ? " 
" Why, there was the wreck of the Buffalo, 
That happened only a month ago, 
Right at the point there in the bay, 
Mast and rigging were swept away ! " 

The stranger started up from the ke, 

" My wife ! — my wife and my babes ! " cried he. 

"Tell me, fisherman, I implore! 

Was there none that escaped to shore ? " 

" Nay, they every one were drowned ; 

And none of the bodies were ever found. 

It grieves me sorely thus to say, 

But wreck and all were cast away. " 

'Tis night. The fisher hath left the ke, 
Still sits the stranger dreamily, 
The tempest rages over his head, 
But the tempest within is far more dread ; 
And blacker is the night within 
Than night without hath ever been ! 
Who with Despair doth grapple, may, 
God pity him ! — be a castaway ! 



THE TRUSTEE. 47$ 



Like wicked spirits around the ke, 
The winds are howling frantically. 
The waves clutch at the stranger's feet ; 
They roll him in their winding sheet. 
Did he intend it, or did he not ? 
God be his judge — God only wot. 
God in our peril be our stay, 
Lest we be wrecked and cast away. 



THE TRUSTEE. 

IT IS shagged head was like a red 

And ragged head of clover : 
His eyes as wet as oozy slate 
And frowsy brows hung over. 

Each cheek rose to a streaked peak ; 

His beak was like a parrot's ; 
His beard was long, with fibers strong, 

Like dangling roots of carrots. 

His slippery lip was all adrip 

With black tobacco slaver ; 
And kith and kindred with a chin 

Unused to soap and laver. 

His shoulders rolled into a fold, 
Wherefrom his arms did dangle ; 

His waist was peaked like an eq- 
uilateral triangle. 

His finger tips scarce reached his hips ; 
His legs as handspikes slender 



476 LICHENS. 



Made him appear a bodied Fear 
Just bending in surrender. 

His shoes, rough-scuff, not big enough 
For feet so large and ample, 

They left a margin of their large- 
ness outside, as for sample. 

His trowsers rose above his hose, 
That snatched in vain to catch 'em, 

O'er feet so vast that ne'er a last 
In Christendom could match 'em. 

I looked at him — he looked at me — 
That fusty dust, must, crust — he 

Screeched out — " You a teacher be : 
And me — why I'm a trust — ee." 

I — I was proud of my degree — 

In shining coat and castor, 
A Master of Philosophy ; 

And this — was my new master. 

'Twas strange at first — the novelty ; 

It seemed so like concession ; 
But thus I learned the dignity 

Of teaching by profession. 



OUR POETS BEAUTIES." 

T^vEAR Friend : — You ask me to inspect 

^ " Our Poets' Beauties ; " — " Author, Jones : ' 

I know the man : he would collect 

For Shakespere's Beauties, Shakespere's bones. 



OUR POET'S BEAUTIES." 477 



Such work, performed by such as he, 
When done, is utterly undone. 

Why, you shall take a library 

And tear the leaves out, one by one, 

And strew the fragments on the grass, 
And cull them with a garden rake, 

And your collection will surpass 
A volume such as he can make. 

No choice selections here you get, 
But limbs disjointed and apart ; 

An anatomic cabinet, 
And not a gallery of art. 

For me, I cannot but abhor 

The wretch, who gives the public these 
Patchworks of paste and scissors for 

Choice volumes of anthologies. 

The idiots ! — the lunatics ! 

A great cathedral I would see : 
They bring to me some broken bricks, 

Or shattered tile from the debris. 

From classic temples they bring back — 
The Vandals ! — specimens of stone : 

"Antiques" they call them — "bric-a-brac," 
These clippings from the Parthenon ! 

The modern Muses — ladies skilled 
In art — are students at its source : 

Blue stockings, of the inner guild : 
Attend, and hear a muse discourse. 



478 LICHENS. 



" That arm — you see how deftly scarred : 
How beautiful the dimple is : — 

I broke it from a statue carved 
In Athens by Praxiteles. 

" This marble chip is rather rough ; 

I waited for the guide to pass ; 
Then watched my chance, and clipped it off 

From a great work by Phidias. 

" This specimen I brought from Rome — 
Saint Catharine's nose — it went on so — 

There, just see that ! — I broke it from 
A group by Michael Angelo ! 

" Here is the fragment of a face : 

How sweet and cherub-like the swell ! — 

Ah, this, from its peculiar grace 
You see was done by Raphael. 

" Such lamentable want of taste 
So many show in foreign lands ! 

Their opportunities they waste, 

And home return with empty hands ; 

" But I determined that I would 

Have something to improve my mind 

On my return : for end so good 
I took whatever I could find." 

Thus far the modern Muse. Her act — 
How barbarous and base it looks ! 

But no more savage is in fact 
Than pillaging a poet's books. 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 479 



Quotations from the poets ! — what 

Better than quoted Cupid's lids 
Are they ? — or quoted Venus' knot ? — 

Or quoted bricks from pyramids. 

Where a quotation apposite 

Is really but a gem reset, 
It may as well adorn your wit, 

As India's, England's coronet. 

If borrowed riches may be blent 

With yours, and glow among your thoughts, 
Or serve to clinch your argument : 

Why, add the guinea to your groats. 

But "Poets' Beauties"— all their grace, 
In Jones's coarse mosaic wrought, 

Is hideous and out of place, 
As diamond eyes in Juggernaut. 

And so, if you are asked to pledge 
The sanction of your name or mine, 

Refuse, and guard from sacrilege 
The poet's work and words divine. 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 

yOU ask me for my tale, good sooth ! 
And if I tell you what befell, 
The how or why I cannot tell ; 
I only tell you simple truth. 



4^0 LICHENS. 



Some half a dozen years ago, 

At night, I lay asleep, and dreamed ; 
If dream it was, and such it seemed ; 

It may have been ; I do not know. 

I saw a form : but how express 

Transcendent beauty ? — how present, 
Her ravishing grace of lineament, 

And supernatural loveliness ? 

Her deep blue eyes, her golden hair 
Surpassing fantasy's ideal ; — 
So spiritual, yet so real 

She floated in the amber air. 

That — was it dream or was it trance ? — 
The face with smiles so sweetly lit, 
The form so elfin exquisite — 

I watched with an enraptured glance. 

But for the loving, tender eyes — 
But for the blushes that awoke 
My soul, perchance I had not spoke ; 

But they appeared love's loveliest guise. 

And I responded to the sign, 

Unconscious ; though I spake the word, 
As from another's lips I heard 

The whispered syllables, "Be mine." 

Her lips in answer moved, but lent 
The air a sound so soft and low 
I heard not : but her eyes with slow 

Languid withdrawal, spake consent. 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 48 1 



Then toward her I advanced, but as 
I did so, her's was flight so fleet, 
I could not with swift hurrying feet 

Lessen the space that 'twixt us was. 

At last, despairing, sad at heart, 
And overworn, pursuit I ceased, 
And said, " Bright being ! Deign at least 

To tarry for me where thou art. 

" Deign to delay till I impress 

Some faint resemblance of thy face 
Upon the canvas, and a trace 

Of thy surpassing loveliness." 

I spake scarce hoping that she would 

So fill my spirit with delight ; 

But as I spake, she ceased her flight, 
And robed in tranquil beauty stood. 

Such was my exaltation — such 
The inspiration of her look, 
I know not how, the canvas took 

Her beauty from the pencil's touch. 

Then she — « Too long do I delay, 
And if hereafter we may meet 
I know not : hope it ; and complete 

The portrait by the light of day." 

Then, as a star that hides its beam, 

She vanished : I awakened, sad 

To find the vision that I had 
Was but the chance work of a dream, 



482 LICHENS. 

As from a sleepless night ; and so 
Disturbed and fretted, I arose, 
And thought the folding door to close 

That opened to my studio. 

But glancing through, I saw, in place 
Of the blank canvas that upon 
My easel stood, in outline drawn 

My vision's perfect form and face. 

Her peerless beauty could I see, 
Half hid in tissue, half revealed, 
As flowers in morning mist concealed, 

And blushing through their drapery. 

I threw the shutters open wide ; 
And, fluttering its wings of flame, 
The sunshine through the window came, 

And flitted round my Spirit Bride. 

For, in the passion of my heart, 
The phantom was already named 
My own, as if of right I claimed 

Her my soul's mate and counterpart. 

And, may I be as sure of Heaven, 
As I was confident that she 
Was living flesh and blood, for me 

Designed, and would to me be given. 

I gazed delirious with delight : 
Rapt and inspired, anew I caught 
My pencil, and adoring, wrought 

From the ideal as from sight. 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 483 

Wrought as intoxicate with wine, 

Swayed by emotions mingled of 

The frenzy of the artist, love, 
And hope that yet she should be mine. 

Day after day I wrought, until, 

A month past, it began to seem 

The perfect picture of my dream 
Waked into being at my will. 

And so time passed, and when I showed 
The work to friends and connoisseurs, 
They stood as rapt idolaters, 

While with delight their faces glowed. 

" As purely lovely as the old 

Art of the Greeks ! " exclaimed they all : 

" And who was the original ? " 
But I the secret never told. 

But they proclaimed me to the noon ; 

And rich men came and sought to buy 

Of me my masterpiece, but I 
Refused : I'd sell my soul as soon ! 

Two years passed by, and I began 
To fear that I should never meet, 
On earth, my angel pure and sweet — 

My star from the empyrean. 

But in a beauty crowded hall, 

I met, amid the living stream, 

One night, the idol of my dream, 
My vision's bright original. 



484 LICHENS. 



I stood entranced : for, as she came, 
I knew at once, amid the throng, 
The being I had loved so long ; 

Eyes, hair, and features all the same, 

I closer drew, as to the chant 

The Hindoo sings, the tropic bird 

Is drawn, with blissful tremors stirred : 

But she was calm and radiant, 

Regardless of my worship, till 
My concentrated gaze at last 
Attracted hers, and as she cast 

Her eyes on mine, I saw them fill 

With unexpected pleasure, such 
As fills the eyes of one who meets 
A friend in some strange city's streets, 

And knows him not until they touch. 

She seemed to know me as it were 
A recognition. " Had we met ? " 
She seemed to ask — " she must forget, 

Nor could recall the how or where." 

I knew : and hopeful that the end 
I hoped would follow, I was taught 
Prudence by passion, and I sought 

An introduction from a friend. 

And O, what holy lore I learned 
As her blue eyes looked into mine ; 
For, gazing in the depths divine, 

I knew — I knew my love returned. 



THE PAINTER'S DREAM. 485 

And yet I found her modest, coy, — 

Too artless even to repress 

Her blushes, or her love confess 
By the sweet lures that maids employ. 

But I, grown eloquent of my theme, 

Spoke of my painting, of my love 

Awakened by the vision of 
Her radiant beauty in my dream. 

How love-inspired my labors were : 

How her ineffable beauty, wrought 

By love upon the canvass brought 
Me fame ; and of my search for her. 

Then she with blushes : She had dreamed, 
Or was it trance, the very night 
Of my own dream, and borne with flight 

Of veinless, faery wings she seemed, 

West — west she sped ; still to the west : 
Beneath her lagged the toiling train, 
O'er cornclad slope and desert plain, 

And rugged gulch, and mountain crest, 

She knew not where, but reached at last 
A city by the ocean's bound : 
Its hills with palaces were crowned — 

Its harbors thronged with sail and mast. 

She passed beneath the gaslight's glow, 

Through streets that hushed as death appeared, 
And supernatural and weird ; 

So to an artist's studio. 



486 LICHENS. 



And a young artist there she saw, 
Who startled her by quick advance ; 
And by the ardor of his glance 

Alarmed, and forced her to withdraw, 

And yet, when with imploring speech 
He urged her to remain, she staid 
While he, with rapid touches, made 

Of form and face a hasty sketch. 

Well, I can tell you nought beside : 
You see I painted to the life : 
Here is the picture ; here, my wife- 

My mortal, and immortal bride. 



ANA, ZIPPORAH, HULDAH. 

Ana. If I should ever wed, it would not be 
Until there came a man so large of soul 
That I could always find enough of room 
To grow in him. I think to wed a prince, 
But not such princes as do in the courts 
Dally with maidens, and their manliness 
Fritter away on trifles, fill mine eye. 
My husband must be brave, and tried in wars, 
A leader of his people where the din 
Of arms is thickest. A scholar too, 
Learned in all the lore that the proud priests 
Teach in their schools at Memphis, but of mind 
So vast and grand that thought in him should seem 
Not to need learning for its growth, but only 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 487 

To use it as its fitting furniture, 

As a great temple uses lamps and altars. 

And he should use these — these high accoutrements — 

For no mean end. But as a soldier he 

Should teach his people how to guard their freedom, 

If needful how to win it. And as scholar, 

Should mould their laws, and chiefest should inspire 

Them with the love of sacred things, and teach 

All that our mighty ancestors 

Have taught of God, of duty, and of life 

Angelic, in the world above the stars. 

Zipporah. And if the man be beautiful and strong, 
And generous, and rich, that seeks my hand, 
I care not for the rest. 

Huldah. O beautiful 

Must ever be the form that holds a soul 
Itself all beautiful. For these our bodies are 
But the thin shell that from our stronger souls 
Have taken shape, — as do the shells that lie 
On the sea shore, take tint and curvature 
From that which lies within them ; 
Beautiful souls must build them beautiful dwellings. 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

Written for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the marriage of William Wiley Rubottom 
and Sarah Ann Edwards. 

"VTOT they are fully wed who just 

Before a priest have stood and plighted 
Whatever vows of love and trust — 
Howe'er they hold themselves united ; 



488 LICHENS. 

But they who, bound with holy bands, 
Have each the other's burdens carried, 

Their whole life through, with loving hands 
And willing hearts ; they — they are married. 

As living wood with wood ingraft 

Is year by year more closely wedded, — 

More fully rounded is the shaft — 

More deep the knitted seam imbedded. 

The soft and plastic outer-part, 

That to the gentlest pressure yielded, 

Drawn closer, closer to the heart, 
By all the later growth o'ershielded ; 

By Nature's fingers coiled and twined, 
The fibers crossed and interwoven 

Into a knot compact, conjoined, 

By Time, the ax-man, hardly cloven ; 

Wherein, rejoiced, the craftsman sees 

Such strength as storms cannot demolish — 

For staunchest ships the stoutest knees, 
And grain that bears the finest polish ! 

So wedded life, where love with love 

An ample usury requiteth, 
Each year rounds out the form thereof, 

And every fiber more uniteth ! 

And Fancy sees and sings her song 

And thoughtful Wisdom sees and teaches 

Of character complete and strong, 

And beauty such as youth ne'er reaches. 



SUNSET. 489 

The thews grow weak, the form is bent, 

And cheeks are seamed and locks are whitened, 

The senses shut, the strength is spent, 
But every hour by love is brightened. 

When gathered beams of fifty years 
Upon the day their light are shedding, 

As clustered stars from circling spheres, 
They shine upon the golden wedding ! 

Not fairer she upon the day 

When, full of hope, he wooed and won her, 
Nor nobler he : we gladly pay 

Their wedded age our meed of honor. 

Be garlands o'er their temples cast ! 

Let children's children round them cluster ! 
Throw o'er them, memories of the past, 

Your rosy clouds of golden luster ! 



SUNSET. 

/BROWNED with garlands immortal, 

With blazing gauntlet and crest, 
Into the golden portal, 
The sun has gone to rest. 

Long and sultry and dreary 
My day has been to its close, 

Body and mind are weary, 
And night brings no repose. 



490 LICHENS. 



Sitting look I and wonder, 

His day is so serene 
Why has my own a blunder 

Of trial and sadness been. 

Why is life but a blending 
Of sheen and shadow at best 

Never a glory ending 

In glory and endless rest. 

Every joy has a trial 

That follows after in haste 

Ever over the dial 

The light by shadow is chased. 

Life is dappled and lichened, 
A changeful summer's day 

Joy in its dawn is quickened 
And we are children at play, 

Noon may shadow the heaven 
And storms our path assail 

Who can foretell the even ? — 
Shall light or cloud prevail ? 

Live like martyrs in Story, 

Labor early and late, 
Then shall garlands and glory, 

Greet our brows at the gate. 

Pray, that Jesus may gather 

Us all into his rest, 
Into the arms of the father 

The home of the holy and blest. 



OBERLIN 

1880. 



I. 

S~\ MOTHER, while thy happier children are 

^^ Clasped to thine arms, and gathered at thy feet, 

Let me, who may not join them, from afar 

Still send a greeting. Chance, a song more sweet 
Than mine may be may kindlier welcome meet : 
None comes sincerer : wast thou not my mother? 
Hush, heart ! More softly let thy pulses beat ! 
And yet I cannot all my feeling smother ! 
Thou wast my earliest love, and I shall have no other ! 

ii. 
Thou wast the inspiration of my youth, 

And I would sing as in the olden time, 
Of thee, the armed champion of the truth, 

And the sworn foe of darkness and crime ! 

I see thee still self-centered and sublime ! 
Hail to thee, Oberlin ! For still I hark 

The clarion, as in the morning's prime, 
Sounding above the strife ; and still I mark 
Blazing afar in front, thine oriflamme, Jeanne d'Arc ! 



492 OBERLIN. 



III. 

Thou mother, rather, of heroes ! And no weak 
And pale consumptive gave to them their brawn ; 

But Health doth fruit her apples on thy cheek ; 
And with rebounding foot thou treadst the lawn, 
Like an unbroken heifer, or a fawn ! — 

Penthesilea ! For from morning meads, 

And touch of kine, and breath of flowers, was 
drawn 

The life, that consecrate to human needs, 

Thou hast made glorious with illustrious deeds. 

IV. 

For thou dost grow more beautiful with age ; 

Or, rather, thou Minerva, I have grown 
To more discernment, and to a more sage 

And clearer insight than my youth had known : 

Nor is the clearer insight mine alone : 
Thy beauty e'en thine enemies confess 

They cease at length the conflict, and they own 
Themselves in error, and that thy success 
Is the deserved success of truth and righteousness. 

v. 
That freedom is the birthright of a man : 

That manhood is his title-deed thereto : 
That slavery ever is crime, and that it can 

Never be legalized, no matter who 

May seek the deed of infamy to do : 
That law and church alike should have respect 

To no man's person, whatsoe'er his hue : 
That a good heart is more than intellect : 
That love is better and stronger than creeds and sect : 



O BERLIN. 493 



VI. 

That culture is compatible with toil : 

That learning need not be a dandy dight, 

Afraid the lilies of his hands to soil : 

That all that man may learn is woman's right, 
If her's the wish and her's the mental might : 

That usefulness is better than eclat : 

That guilt is measured not by deeds but light : 

That love is the fulfilling of the law, 

Mauger the gossamer lines that cloister spiders draw : 

VII. 

These were thy maxims, and the tardy world 

Has come to do them honor ; after years 
Of pelting in the pillory, while they hurled 

A storm of filthy slanders at thine ears ; 

And thou, meek saint, regardless of their jeers, 
With folded hands, and eyes uplift to heaven, 

Pale in thy sorrow, and with loving tears, 
Sent up a prayer that they might be forgiven ; 
And still they gave thee cause, till seventy times seven. 

VIII. 

Thou hast not changed — only as grapes that change 

In ripening, or trees that grow and bloom : 
The world hath come to thee, and what was strange, 

Disloyal, and heretical, to whom 

Thou wast opposed; — all that they now assume 
By right preemptive as their own to claim ! — 

While thou, the changing planet to illume, 
Hast still stood shining with a patient flame, 
Sunlike and truthlike, always and for aye the same ! 



494 OBERLIN. 



IX. 

Have we forgotten — we could not forget — 
The slaver's visits ? — how his rattling wheels 

Would echo through the night ; and when he set 
His foot upon thy soil, the devil's misdeals, — 
Like fawning spaniels or like squirming eels, — 

A pestilence of local vermin, thronged 

Begging to follow at his highness' heels ! — 

Cadaverous imps, heartless and greasy tongued, 

That knew their grade, and knew full well where they 
belonged. 

x. 

Have we forgotten how the brows of bronze 
Grew pale with terror, and how mothers swart 

Close to their bosoms pressed their little ones ! 
How with great eyes grown white and lips apart 
They crouched dismayed, hopeless and sad of heart ! 

How the poor men burned with a fierce desire 
To have revenge : and chattels from the mart 

Grew heroes, and the white heat of their ire 

Turned charcoal into diamonds, like earth's nether fire. 

XI. 

And how God gave them victory, and never 

Could the slave-catchers from thy sheltering arms 

A single panting fugitive dissever ! 

And the poor blacks gathered to thee in swarms — 
An ebony ornament, that to thy charms 

Served as a foil, nor least when from thine eye 
Flashed indignation, as at fresh alarms 

Thy wards ran to thee with a sudden cry 

Seeking protection till the danger should pass by. 



OBERLIN. 



495 



XII. 

'Twas like a glimpse of the Divine to see 

Thee periling thyself, to give to these 
Poor, helpless creatures, — that had run to thee 

Appealing to thy Christian sympathies, 

And clinging in their terror to thy knees, — 
Refuge and shelter ! So the law to us 

Who saw, came not by broad phylacteries 
And Sunday sermons, but we read it thus 
Wrought into deeds humane, heroic, glorious ! 

XIII. 

And thou didst honor earth-begrimed Toil ! — 
And deem his life of Labor grander than 

A king's ; and crown him monarch of the soil ! — 
And wreathe the visor of his golden tan 
With lily leaves of thought ! He, noble, man ; 

And thou, his teacher ! — Thou, endowed with charms 
Of health and thought — ripe, and American ! — 

Thou, scorning not to brown thy dimpled arms, 

Like ripening melons in the sunshine of thy farms ! 

xiv. 
By thine example fired with zeal intense, 

Thy sons went forth and sought out Ignorance, 
A nondescript, " horrend, informe, ingens, 

Cui lumen ademptum," and his brutish clans ; 

And charged upon them boldly, spear and lance : 
Nor without peril fought they ; for the foe 

Caused the young warriors many a mischance, 
And in the fray oft dealt them blow for blow : 
And some were slain, and in their graves lie cold and 
low. 



496 OBERLIN. 



XV. 

And some of them passed o'er the fatal stream 
Beyond whose waters strange magicians dwelt, 

That by forbidden enchantments made men seem 
To be transformed to beasts ; and in them dealt 
And traded as swine ; and to a devil knelt 

In worship ; and when bidden by his priests 
Sold their own children ; and small sorrow felt 

As they were driven away in gangs like beasts, 

Branded and bruised, and wearing manacles on their 
wrists. 

XVI. 

To that land went thy heroes, and found maids 
Wailing in prison, and them did they set free ; 

And for the brutened hinds they drew their blades 
And bade them in God's name henceforth to be 
Freemen, and hie by the north star to thee ! 

And many babes that in their cradle had 

Been branded "Thrall," by Slavery's fell decree, 

They gave unto their mothers, and them bade 

God speed, and left them safe, and wondering and glad. 

XVII. 

And some were clerks, in sacred matters learned ; 

And these bare forth a casket, and therein 
A precious gem, wherein who looked discerned 

The Holy Graal — the treasure which had been 

Lost unto men so long — and their own sin ; 
And saw a Bleeding One, with thorns encrowned ; 

And saw his sorrow, and his godlike mien 
And peerless, and a glory all around ; 
And some heard music of a most seraphic sound. 



OBERLIN. 497 



XVIII. 

And some are sleeping ! Over them the grass 
Lovingly waves, and Summer brings her flowers 

And strews them o'er their graves — unknown, alas ! 
Often to human ken ; and the Night showers 
Her dewy incense o'er them, and embowers 

Them with her softest shadows ! Heroes, rest ! 
Move your wings lightly o'er them, angel Hours ! 

Fold them, O mother, gently to thy breast ! 

Immortal ones ! In living and in dying blest ! 

XIX. 

Whose tombs were by the sandblast graven, when 
Treason's sirocco burst, and earth thereat 

Reeled, and the purple welkin shrieked with pain ; 
And winds breathed fearful prophecies, — whereat 
Old men grew tearful, and fell curses that 

With rheumy poison curdled all the air ! — 

And disappointed Greed made league with Hate ; 

And perjured lips with oaths unholy sware ; 

And Slavery, brought to bay, howled furious from his 
lair! 

xx. 

And madness swept a flood ; — as to the gate 

Of the gulf, the swollen Mississippi sweeps, 
Over wrecked homes : then followed State on State 

Insane into the abyss, in ruinous heaps ! 

As a landslip into the river leaps 
Laden with farms, and swirls the uprooted trees 

A plunging chaos, through the muddy deeps; — 
So, with a crash, went down into the seas, 
Law, rights, and century-grey immunities. 



49 8 OBERLIN. 

XXI. 

Then over Sumter leaped demons of death, 
That in their fiery arms bore hissing shell, 

And hurled them on the unblenching brave beneath ; 
They climbed where on its standard rose and fell 
The starry flag, and with unearthly yell 

They rent its robe of glory, and its stars 

Eclipsed they with the sulphurous smoke of hell ; 

And the old fortress reeled, — a mighty Mars, 

Disabled, blackened and blind with blood, and grim 
with scars ! 

XXII. 

Then from the universal North uprose 

A cry of indignation ; — from the black 
Slopes of the Adirondacks, and the snows 

That slept on old Katahdin, rolling back 

Over the prairies, and to the bivouac 
Of Oregon hunters ; and impetuous sprang 

Men hungry for battle ; and the rifle's crack 
And clarion's call, and cannon's boom outrang 
Above the tramp of soldiers and the armorer's clang. 

XXIII. 

Then sat grim Resolution on thy brow ! 

Uprose thy younger sons ! Not, as of yore 
Thine errant knights, went they to battle now, 

Singly, but massed, as waves against the shore : 

Not with a maniac's rush impetuous, nor 
The unthinking fury of a maddened horde 

Of buffaloes, when the prairies 'neath them roar 
And thunder like Niagara ; but the sword 

Drew they like angels, thereto bidden by the Lord ! 



O BERLIN. 499 



XXIV. 

Calmly and prayerfully, and with a sigh 

Of sorrow for the infatuated foe, 
They smote him ! — and they smote him hip and thigh, 

Asking a blessing upon every blow ! 

No blinded spaniel followers they ! O, no ! — 
But every man equipped in head and heart 

To be himself a leader, if it so 
Were needful ; trained in manual drill, the art 
Of war, and ready even for a general's part. 

xxv. 

The enemy's position, and the keys 

Thereto, — the point that he was aiming at, — 
Their own resources and necessities, — 

The comprehension of the question that 

The sword must solve — ofttimes a private's hat 
Contained the whole ! And his a heart, beside, 

Not ready danger only to combat, 
But even fear itself to override ! 
Hail, heroes all ! — tried — in a thousand battles tried ! 

XXVI. 

Thy sons not only. O'er the fields there moved 
Angelic ones, and by the wounded bending, 

As tenderly as o'er their own beloved, 

Soothing the sufferers and their wants attending : — 
Their own beloved ? God wot what thoughts were 
rending 

Those angel ministers, as on the sod 

They kneeled in blood, to comfort the ascending 

Spirit, still fluttering in its clay abode, 

With whispered words — Jesus, mother, and home, and 
God! 



500 O BERLIN. 



XXVII. 
Or in the hospital, with step as soft 

As pensive Evening's mid the flowers of fall, 
With smiles and tears — Love's sentinels, that oft 

Relieved each other — through the dreary hall 

They passed ; — bright dreams ! that, passing, left 
with all, 
A lighter heart. For, o'er them fancy's rays 

Gathered a glamor — an ethereal 
And misty splendor — like the 'minished blaze 
Of vestal stars, half cloud-enveiled from mortal gaze. 

XXVIII. 

Thy daughters they — well mated with thy sons ; — 

Their equals in the ardor of pursuit 
Of knowledge. Not were they misguided nuns, 

Shunning a man as they would shun a brute ; 

But women true, with loves that like ripe fruit 
Challenged the gathering ; and with heads as clear 

As a June morning ; and prepared to moot 
Questions of logic or the solar sphere ; 
In everything but grossness man's acknowledged peer. 

XXIX. 

Nor soldiers only blessed them, but the rude 

Plantation negroes, of their freedom proud, 
Whose puffy lips shouted their gratitude 

To their deliverers, jubilant and loud : 

About the soldiers like a dusky cloud 
They hung ; but to the teachers as if sent 

From heaven, and next to Christ, the negro bowed : — 
Or next to him — the martyr President — 
Lincoln, whose name with Christ's they innocently 
blent. 



O BERLIN. 501 

XXX. 

Thy missionary daughters, with their brows 

So wondrous white, to unaccustomed eyes 
Seemed all angelic, like the mystic spouse 

In the apocalypse ; and their soft speech 

Unfolding manifold holy mysteries, 
Subdued the demon of revenge, and gave 

The lie to those malicious prophecies 

About a war of races, and the wave 
Of blood that was to flow, with freedom to the slave. 

XXXI. 

The master knew full well what ample cause 

The negroes had for vengeance ! — and they durst 

Never relax the rigor of their laws, 

Lest the chained tiger might his shackles burst, 
And in his keeper's blood allay his thirst — 

The fiery thirst within him, and the rage 
Which in his impotence he still had nursed : 

They knew what heirloom, and what heritage 

Of curse accumulated, age passed down to age ! 

XXXII. 

But they did not know, for they could not know 
The power — the omnipotence — of love. 

That swayed the negro's heart, and stayed the flow 
Of blood ; as if the spirit from above 
Descended on the slave, and like a dove 

Dwelt in his soul ! And so the curse was stayed, 
And they who sinned, reaped not the fruit thereof. 

O Christ ! how is thy blessed gospel made 

Stronger than chains, or linked law, or warrior's blade ! 



502 O BERLIN. 



XXXIII. 

Hail to thee, Oberlin ! that honored art 

In thy success, and honored in thy sons 
And in thy daughters ! Through the people's heart 

For thee a stream of warm affection runs ! 

And hail ! all hail ! unto thy greater ones ! — 
The towers of thy bulwarks — of a mien 

Manlike and godlike ! — thy chief corner stones — 
Polished, that with the splendor of their sheen 
Gladdened all eyes that caught the radiance serene. 

xxxiv. 
Thy prophets they : to whom 'twas given to pass 

Into sublimest spheres, and converse hold 
With Reason, and to see her face to face 

Unveiled ; as Moses once beheld of old 

The unveiled Jehovah, when in floods of gold 
The glory brake from the blue floor of heaven ; 

As once Isaiah saw the gates unfold, 
And lo ! the altar like the sun at even, 
And a live coal therefrom unto his lips was given. 

xxxv. 
As once the favored three on Tabor saw 

The Christ transfigured, when his visage shone 
Sunlike, and did thereafter closer draw 

In sympathy to the Beloved One ; — 

Hadst thou not thy Peter, James and John, 
Upon whose brows supernal glory fell ? — 

Whose words of love came through the ether door, 
Star luminous ? — whose lives like ashphodel 
Bloomed evermore, with loveliness ineffable? 



O BERLIN. 503 



XXXVI. 

Ah, they were strong ! — mental athletes, who dared 

Grapple with mightiest problems, and were not 
Vanquished ! One, tall and silver-haired, 

With brow enseamed, as if the chisel of Thought 

The Victory of victory had wrought 
Thereon ; and still above the noble man 

Rose his fore-finger, spirelike, as he taught ! 
Not faultless found ; but few are better than 
Our loved and honored, good old President Mahan ! 

XXXVII. 

Another was there, with a brow that seemed 

A dome of noonday, and his thought as clear ; 
And from the sea depths of whose blue eyes beamed 

Lovelight reflected from the upper sphere ; 

Or else fierce lightning, like an angel's spear. 
Hurled from the battlements of law or sin, 

While the poor sinner crouched beneath in fear 
Of the impending stroke, that through his thin 
Defences crashing, clove down to the life within ! 

XXXVIII. 

The mighty masses that about his feet 

Gathered to hear, would sit with bated breath 

Till they could hear e'en their own pulses beat ! 
A solemn stillness like the hush of death 
Would reign ; or like that when beneath 

The ragged cloud the trembling surges keep 
Silence, while the dark storm gathereth 

His forces, and the chained lightnings sleep 

And thunder bristleth his black wing above the deep ! 



504 O BERLIN. 

XXXIX. 

Then from the awful horrors of the pit 

Would he the veil uplift, till one could see 
The gulf of flame, and hear the infinite 

Unutterable wail of agony 

Reverberating through eternity ! 
" Hark ! Heard ye not a sound above the yell 

Of demons, and the wailing of the sea ? 
It was the tolling of the dismal bell 
That after countless aeons has struck one in hell ! " 

XL. 

Or, standing upon tiptoe, with his hand 

Above his eyebrows, he would look afar 
To see the prodigal from the foreign land 

Returning home, and then — " O sinners, are 

The gates of mercy waiting to unbar, 
And will ye not return ? Come home ! Come home ! 

Eternal life, a crown, the morning star, 
Himself He offers you ! O, come ! O, come ! 
They come ! They come ! Give place ! Room for the 
sinners ! Room ! " 

XLI. 

Then, like the fluttering of falling leaves, 
Or like the sighing of the autumn wind, 

Or rush of birds, or dashing of the waves, 

Came sobs, and sighs, and rustle of robes, combined 
With sounding footsteps, as if with one mind 

Each wave of the vast sea had been imbued, 
And each were fearing to be left behind. 

And still the prophet's invitations would 

Sound like a rhythmic surge above the multitude ! 



OBERLIN. 505 



XLII. 

Or chance the sons of Asaph with a psalm 

Subdued and sweet, would soothe the spirit's strife ; 
And then a hush would come, as if a calm 

Had fallen on the troubled sea of life ; 

And then a prayer. Then was, O bride and wife 
Of the Redeemer, thine espousals, and 

Fled all the fears with which thy heart was rife : 
A golden circlet glowed upon thy hand, 
The sign of thy rich dower in the goodly land. 

XLIII. 

O power of eloquence ! When the speaker's breast 
Heaved with volcanic fires, and from his eye 

Streamed lightnings — such as round a mountain's crest 
Forebode eruption — then he stood on high, 
As Moses stood on Sinai, and drew nigh 

The open gate of heaven ! — and then came 

The law — "The soul that sinneth it shall die:" 

Came with the sanction of the awful name, 

Burning and leaping from his lips like flame ! 

XLIV. 

O prophet, preacher, and philosopher ! 

The puny arms that warred with thine — where now 
Are they ? Gone, gone ! Thou like a glacier 

Enthroned on granite, with thy placid brow 

Above the lightnings, while the blossoms grow 
Lovingly near thy feet ! Thus heavenward 

Rose thou, most purely and sublimely ! Thou 
The peer of Augustine, Anselm, Abelard 
And Edwards ! Heaven doth give thee thy reward ! 



506 O BERLIN. 



XLV. 

The tongue of slander sleeps. The boulders that 
Opposed thy course are thrown in vast moraines 

Low at thy feet, for men to marvel at ! — 

Or, ground to pomace in the mountain's veins, 
Struggle obscurely to the nether plains ! 

But the clear day is thine, and in the pure 
Translucence, where eternal silence reigns 

And godlike calmness, is thy home secure, 

And shall, long as the firm Sierras stand, endure. 

XLVI. 

And one, thy fellow, modest as a girl, 
Melancthon to thy Luther, or Saint John 

Unto thy Peter — a most precious pearl 
That hid within its shell, and all unknown 
For love of light itself would still have shone ! 

Scholar of the New Testament ! My light 
And my heart's friend ! that led me on 

Along the luminous pathway, and the height 

Where through his Christ beamed forth the Father 
Infinite ! 

XL VII. 

To us who knew him, needs he to be named ? 

The seer and sage, the reverend and revered ! 
" Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob I " — thus exclaimed 

An eastern scholar at my master's beard, 

That venerable was ; and he appeared 
Indeed like an old patriarch, in his long 

Apparel ; there was even something weird 
In his appearance ; as Elijah 'mong 
The youthful prophets, he : of him I sing this song : 



OBERLIN. 507 



DER HIMMLISCHEN MORGEN. 
(the heavenly morning.) 

In the summer of the Northland 
Day is never lost in night, 

But the evening, rich and golden, 
Melts into the morning light. 

Such a day the good man's lifetime; 

Night comes not upon its even ; 
But irradiant with goodness, 

Blends it with the dawn of heaven. 

And the glory of that dawning 
Plays about his brow serene ; 

And his locks all white and bleached 
Glisten in its sheeted sheen. 

Glows his eye, but not with passion ; 

In his soul no lust consumes : 
Soul, and eye, and cheek, all ashen, 

The descending day illumes. 

In this life though still engaged, 

He the better has begun : 
Such an one was Paul, the aged ; 

Such the loved and loving John. 

Doubt it not, O unbeliever ! 

Such an one there sometimes is : 
Here and there is held in reverence 

Some angelic man like this. 

Happy they who share his presence 
Until Death, the Angel, calls ; 

Happy he whom God thinks worthy 
Of his mantle, when it falls. 



508 O BERLIN. 



XLVIII. 

Quintilianides ! Thou who didst teach, 

Having John's patience and the zeal of Paul, 
To prune the errors of our rambling speech, 

By precept much and by example all : — 

Mellifluous, and more than musical, 
Sweet as the song that brings the Switzer home — 

The Ranz des vaches — sweet as the nightbird's call — 
Or the unwonted strains in dreams that come — 
Thy speech was golden ! Let us hail the Chrysostom ! 

XLIX. 

Not eloquent, if eloquence is that 

Glib utterance which ripples from the tongue 
Smooth as a brook o'er cress and grassy plat, 

Running to cadence meaningless and long, 

With no more burden than a linnet's song ; 
For I have seen thee pause, and weigh thy word, 

Boggle and stammer, blushing at the wrong, 
Like an untrained, awkward boy : but then — who heard 
The classic and nervous phrase, to his soul's depth was 
stirred. 

L. 

Friend of the slave ! who with his earliest stood ! 

Son of the South ! — that did thy hands withdraw 
Washed of the shame, and stainless of the blood ! 

" Learning and Labor " — " Liberty and Law " — 

Such were thy themes, and we who heard thee saw 
Learning, fair maid, laying her lily-white 

And delicate hand in Labor's rugged paw ; 
We listened, and lost ourselves in hushed delight : 
'Twas as some angel, now thy fellow, had bid thee 
-Write!" 



OBERLIN. 



509 



LI. 



Another rests with thee. In dead men's tongues 

Absorbed and conversant, he could not forget 
That to the living the live man belongs, 

And paid the claim or e'er it grew to debt ! 

His will, as iron to the moulding set : 
Ne from the right, nor from his view of right, 

Could he be moved by argument or threat : 
Taking the Bible for theodolite, 
Ne from his purpose would he swerve or step or sight 

LII. 

Yet no more genial, loving, kindly man 
Than he hath sat in the professor's chair : 

A dignified and scholarly Puritan 

After such type as Vane and Milton were : 
Polished, urbane ; devoting all his rare 

Attainments to his work ; mistake or slip 
Not suffering in himself, he could not bear 

Laxness of life or leasing of the lip 

In such as sought to share his sage companionship. 

LIU. 

In modo suaviter, fortiter in re ; 

Roundhead in principle, but a chevalier 
In all refinement and in courtesy, 

A true knight was he — of the knightliest peer : 

Ready for strife of sword or clash of spear 
For the defenceless, with the deed for meed : 

As free from taint as he was free from fear : 
A Christian gentleman of the noblest breed, 
Sans peur et sans reproche — a very Bayard indeed ! 



5IO OBERLIN. 



LIV. 

One, gruff of voice, but of most kindly heart, 
An alchemist was, who forced the lips of dumb 

Matter its inner mystery to impart : 

With crucible and alembic, forcing from 
Strange flame reluctant specters, who did come 

To do his hest. Nay, our Prometheus he 

Who used his fire, heaven filched, to waken some 

Insensate souls therewith, and set them free 

WingSd, and longing after immortality ! 

LV. 

O with what patient and assiduous toil 

And much manipulation, he prepared 
Tube and retort, galvanic bath and coil, 

Wherewith the volitant sprites he deftly snared ! 

How reticent was he of the risk he dared 
Adventurous, as he the genie woke, 

Explosive or combustible, that scared 
The neophytes, when prisoned afrites broke 
The casket's seal, and rose, frightful, in sulphurous 
smoke ! 

LVI. 

Woe worth the wight, that heard but did not heed 
The wizard's incantation. He, next day, 

Culprit would sit, and tremble at the rede, 
As molten metal shrinking from the assay : 
But O ! the gentleness that would allay 

The terrors of the timorous, with mild 
Suggestion, falling like a luminous ray 

From his own countenance beaming, as he smiled 

Like a benignant father on a loving child ! 



OBERL1N. 5 1 1 



LVII. 

Content to labor in a life obscure, 

He, like his fellows, labored on ; content 
The hardship and the penury to endure, 

With obloquy that followeth dissent ; 

Careless of wealth, his little he bespent 
Like sunshine in the zeal for doing good ; 

And smothered his ambition in a pent 
Hamlet, concealed amid morass and wood : 
Theirs was the self-denial : be ours the gratitude! 

LVIII. 

One led the choir, and wakened melodies 
Of psalm, with flute accord and violin ; 

Or with lithe fingers o'er the organ keys 

Strewed liquid opals, — loosed bright birds whose kin 
Imprisoned the resounding wires within — 

Did struggle their captive mates to disenthrall, 
And beat with fluttering wings against the thin 

Reverberant buttress of their prison wall ! 

And yet no bird — 'twas more — manlike — maj estical ! 

LIX. 

Nervous — as all must be to Music dear — 

Sweet, sensitive soul ! — that shudered at the pain 

Of criticism, as his delicate ear 

Shuddered at discord in his favorite strain, 
And shrank from both with manifested pain. 

An alder he, such as upon the brink 

Of cataracts grow, and tremble in the rain 

Of spray, and from the incessant clamor shrink, 

Yet linger, of the brooklet's melodies to drink and 
drink. 



512 O BERLIN. 



LX. 

So bore he, for the sake of holy song, 

The voice and touch of novices untrained ; 

So labored for them, lovingly and long; 

But then he triumphed, when his purpose gained, 
He led them to the height himself attained 

By inspiration. Then the measures rose 

Winged, as cherubim — with sweetness chained 

And interlinked — in such a stream as glows 

Hard by the throne, and pulsing harmony ever flows ! 

LXI. 

Such the composer's power ! — to summon forth, 

With ear attuned and sympathetic touch, 
Sweet Music's ministers, that fluttering north 

Or south, such rapturous symphonies breathe, and 
such 

Divine aspirings, after, that 'tis much 
As if Creation came again, and Morning Stars 

Shouted for joy ! And Sorrow drops his crutch, 
And Pain exultant treads responsive bars 
With the entranced Aldebaran, Sirius and Mars ! 

LXII. 

Another and younger was — whose eloquence 

Did hold delighted multitudes attent, 
With tones melodious struck from sterling sense, 

And logic that convinced or forced assent, 

While opulence of illustration lent 
Vivacity, and forced the mind to hold 

The triple-linked chain of argument, 
And held the memory of zeal grown cold 
To slaves enmanacled, and to duties manifold. 



OBERLIN. 513 



LXIII. 

His country claimed him ; in a foreign court 
And in the halls of Congress he hath served 

Long her behest, and served in noble sort, 
Ne from his duty hath he ever swerved, 
But well hath won the name his deeds deserved. 

The youngest of the corps in that far time 

Whereof I write, when men were men and nerved 

And armed by Duty for the hits with Crime — 

And manf uller grew thereby — heroic and sublime. 

LXIV. 

One man I much remember — stately, tall, 
Reverend, saintly, with a mild blue eye ; 

Professor — but a scholar typical — 

He left the chair ; and the world by and by 
Was gainer from the studious industry, 

Which, a recluse, he wrought within his crypt, 
That shone with light from ancient prophecy, 

And rendered luminous the manuscript, 

Whereon the ink from patient fingers dripped and 
dripped. 

LXV. 

How as the sieve of Time hath shaken, each 
Hath gravitated to his several sphere : 

This was ordained a student — that to teach. 
Ah, happy scholar ! when the end is near 
And the far shores of the dark stream appear 

Thou hast, to render at the court above 

With honest hands and with a conscience clear, 

The talents and the usury thereof, 

Wherewith thou wast entrusted by Almighty Love ! 



5 H O BERLIN. 



LXVI. 

And still another : of the ardent souls 

That scorned political tricksters, and the wont 
Of priests — their fellows — ventured at the polls 

To lift his voice for Freedom and Fremont ; 

And spake as if new baptism at the font 
Of Liberty had inspired him ; and won 

Public applause, that forced him to the front 
And to a foreign mission ! He hath run 
His race, and a far voice saith from the clouds, " Well 
done ! " 

LXVII. 

Mine eyes would blind with tears, if I would let 

The memories of sweet amenities 
Which oft were mine from him — I must forget, 

Or intermingling themselves with these 

Memorabilia, which are mean: to please 
Not myself only — My friend ! my friend ! 

I watched thee, with soul eyes, beyond the seas ! 
I traced thy history lovingly to its end ; 
And when the end came, saw thee to the heights as- 
cend ! 

LXVIII. 

One more, of the old time, — with brow of thought 

And speech of wisdom, with magnetic eyes 
And Atlantean shoulders — long had sought 

With busy hand and heart to organize 

The fitful and spasmodic charities 
Of sympathy, for the oppressed and driven 

Herds of the South. Gone — in the grave he lies, 
With many more on Freedom's altars given 
A whole burnt sacrifice, and were caught up to Heaven ! 



O BERLIN. 5 j 5 



LXIX. 

Let others tell — as others best can tell — 

"Who came before the king" —the pioneers, 
That smote the forest in his citadel — 

Broad-browed, and fit for statesmen or for seers ; 

Would I could boast me of those years : 

"All which I saw, and part of which I was ! " 

And speak of men that were Lycurgus' peers ! 

Men that weighed justly popular huzzas 

And glory — illegible tablets, and a broken vase! 

LXX. 

Let others sing the elm tree, where at first 
The emigrant slumbered, couched on fallen leaves ; 
Or how the fathers of the colony erst 
Furrowed the field, or gathered in the sheaves ; 
Or in the gloaming sat beneath the eaves, 
Quoting Isaiah or the Pentateuch ; 
Or sang a hymn to lingering semibreves ; 
Or mingled prudent counsel and rebuke : — 
Men apostolic ! — their Acts would call for a new 
St. Luke ! 

LXXI. 

The colony ! — whose bone and sinews were 
Wrought into wholesome roads and pleasant homes ; 
Wrought into wains ; spent in the millstone's whirr'; 
Lost in the swirl of bristling carding combs ; 
Wrought into maize, or lost amid the foams 
Of great wheat seas. Ah, happy people ! rich 
In more than delvers in forgotten tomes ! — 
Rich in the press ! Happy the people which 
Won for its press the energy of James M. Fitch. 



516 O BERLIN. 



LXXII. 

He, — when the flame that swept athwart the night — 
The winter night — hovered with blazing wing, 
Like an infernal demon from the pit, 
And left home, office, records — everything 
A hideous wreck ! — he, in the morn could fling 
Off his despondency, and at once begin, 
While the foundations still were smouldering, 
To rear anew his work ; and soon the din 
Of the artisan's hammer rang — " He'll win ! he'll 
win ! 

LXXIII. 

Let others tell, that fitlier can tell, 

What man did what — whose sons they were who passed 

Up the steep stair to dome and pinnacle — 

Painful at first — delightful at the last ; — 

Who in the struggle discouraged, fallen, cast 

By luckier mates, persistent, still would strive, 

And persevere, and to the end hold fast ; — 

Who, meager of frame — with only will alive — 

Tested endurance — busiest of the busy hive. 

LXXIV. 

Let others sing, — that can more fitly sing, 
Their worth — the noble women at the head, — 
Matron or maid — concordant in one thing — 
They served as models to the maids they led, 
Nor let the life belie what the lips said. 
Dignified, thoughtful, prudent were they all ; 
Acquaint with books ; in human nature read ; 
And, Oberlin ! thine were a speedy fall, 
Were there no wise administration at "The Hall." 



OBERLIN. 5 1 7 



LXXV. 

Dii minorum gentium ! Bear with me. 

Ye fill your stations worthily no doubt, 

But, looking through your faces, I can see 

Only the mighty shadows that about 

On all sides rise above ye — looming out 

As the fair cliffs that o'er the desert rise ! 

Our puny voices are too faint to shout 

Paeans to them ! great, manful, noble, wise, — 

From the eterne they greet us with benignant eyes ! 

LXXVI. 

It is a tame and stupid age, that treads 
Measured, conventional music, bar by bar : 
Ye, if ye climb where light diviner leads, 
Ye have but hitched your wagon to a star ! — 
And follow in their footsteps from afar, 
And follow only, and feebly, as ye can ! ' 
They lead the spheral chorus, and we are 
But the successors to a mighty plan, 
Zodiacal, creative, — for the good of man ! 

LXXVII. 

Themes be that should give utterance to the dumb- 

Dole for the dead, and for the living laud, — 

The requiem and the eulogium : — 

Would that my stanza fitly could applaud 

One who has lived to execute the broad 

And comprehensive projects which he framed 

From a soul lucid as a gem unflawed, — 

From a heart, loving, blameless and unblamed, — 

And only took the honor when it came unclaimed. 



5l8 OBERLIN. 



LXXVIII. 

If he were left unnamed my song would be 
A royal palace with an unbuilt wall ; — 
A colonnade without its noblest tree ; 
An empty niche would be within my hall 
Of statues, and an unused pedestal ! 
O for the chisel of Praxiteles ! 
Then might I carve one excellent in all 
That or in man or books or nature is 
Good and ennobling! He has made them all — all 
his. 

LXXIX. 

He took " all knowledge for his sphere," as said 

Once of himself another of the great : 

Sensible, modest, blushing like a maid ; 

Genial and sunny, chaste and temperate ; 

Balanced, symmetric, dignified, sedate ; 

In language as in life a model — one 

Whom it were safe for all to imitate ! 

Chief by acclaim ! He stands before the sun 

The stateliest column and fairest in the Parthenon! 

LXXX. 

There riseth in the city of Cologne 

A vast cathedral, — like a cataract fraught 

With sunbeams, falling from the eternal throne, 

And breaking over invisible cliffs, and caught 

In tremulous spray of crystal roods, and wrought 

As frosty fretwork into spikes and spires, 

That bicker in the blue, and daze the thought: — 

As vibrant shuttles of celestial lyres 

Wove webs of visible music, like the auroral fires ! 



OBERLIN. 



519 



LXXXI. 

That shall be finished. Thou, — like earth, and time, 

And the high spheres, and the whole race of man, — 

Evolving, mayst into the ether climb 

Cathedral like, but, in the mighty plan 

Of the Great Architect — as never can 

The Immortal be complete — still to assume 

New grace from chisel of time and artisan ! — 

Still with fresh fretwork, wrought of wreath and 

bloom, 
To crown thy crest, whose glow the dark earth shall 

illume. 

LXXXII. 

Hail to thee, Oberlin ! Thus shoot alway 

Thy spires to the heavens, and crown thy dome 

With saintly images, for aye and aye ! 

Make it most like the spirits' only home, 

The bosom of the Infinite To-Come ! 

For thou dost build a dome more grand and vast 

Than mightiest ministers of Cologne or Rome ! — 

That in the future shall, as in the past 

Strike heavenward, and shall the pyramids outlast ! 



RIPPLE MARKS. 



'"PHE ripples of the sea record in sand 

Their laughter and their sobs ; and all may read : 

Mayhap the first mad wave blots out the screed 
In wantonness, with inconsiderate hand : 
Mayhap, for weakest things do oft withstand 

The onset of the mightiest, the soft silt 

May set as fresco, and it may be built 

Into the solid buttress of the land ; — 

Enduring with the track of mastodon 
Or pterodactyl ; — granulate and knit 

As warrior's scars ; — or rather as tables of stone, 
Unchangeable, by the Almighty's finger writ ! 

Ah ! my life's ripple marks ! — what seer can tell ? — 

The next wave's prey, perchance ! — perchance imper- 
ishable ! 



LOS ANGELES. 



THE holy touch of twilight fell 
Upon thy brow, San Gabriel ; 
From thy retreats reluctant Day 
Turned softly to the west away, 



* The Angels. 



LOS ANGELES. 521 



When the Cathedral, quaint and old, 
Rang forth its bells ; and as they tolled 
Their vesper hymn, they seemed to say, 
In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 

The Duarte past, a winged train 
Of vapors floateth to the plain. 
They veil the wrinkled spurs and grey, 
Above whose crags the eagles play ; 
They veil the sycamores, hoar and old, 
In saintly drapery, fold on fold. 
Still toll the bells, and seem to say, 
In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 

O who be these, that at the gate 
Of the Cathedral stand and wait ? 
The worshippers have gone away ; 
It is the Bishop's wont to stay. 
The Bishop he is quaint and old, 
And lingereth till his prayers be told ; 
The answering music seems to say, 
In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 

The forms are from the gateway gone, 

But in their arms another one 

That came not with them, through the grey 

Hosts of the mist, they bear away. 

And 'neath the altar, quaint and old, 

The Bishop lieth pale and cold ; 



522 RIPPLE MARKS. 



And still strange music seems to say, 
In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 

A meteor from heaven upon 
The heights of the Sierra shone, 
As if it were a beam astray, 
Shot forth from the eternal day ! 
And on the mountains, weird and old, 
Night, awed, her starry rosary told, 
And swelled a song that seemed to say, 
In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 

A voice of benediction fell 

As from thy crest, San Gabriel : 

" I pass, my children, to the day ; 

My benison I leave alway. 

Thou, dear Cathedral, quaint and old, 

Still to thy breast my lambs enfold ! " 

Still rose the voice, and seemed to say, 

In ecstasy of blessedness, 

" Los Angeles ! Los Angeles ! " 



PIERRE. 

" r ~PHE darling one ! " — pleaded Pierre 
* " My Rosalie — light of my life ! 
I ask for your daughter, mon pere, 
Your beautiful daughter to wife." 



PIERRE. 523 



" You ask for my daughter, Pierre : 
The child of a painter you ask 

A painter yourself, it is fair 

That our art shall ordain you a task. 

" Go, paint me a picture, Pierre, 
Of the roses I hold in my hand, 

Whose beauty can only compare 

With the beauty of hers you demand. 

" Paint truthful to nature, Pierre, 
This whiteness where purity glints : 

Your picture of roses shall bear 
No blemish of beauty or tints. 

" But white in its fairness, Pierre, 

As fair as the lilies of light 
In the opaline lakes of the air 

Pure whiteness and nothing but white. 

" And yet, though their color, Pierre, 
Shall evident be to the sight, 

And every beholder aware 

That all of the roses are white. 

" A part of them purple, Pierre, 
A part of them purple must be. 

When you such a painting prepare, 
Come, claiming my daughter of me." 

Ah ! hard was the the problem, Pierre ! — 

Mechanical cunning above. 
But what is the service or where 

That passes the power of love ? 



524 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Love's roses shall teach you, Pierre ! 

Of love when you venture to speak, 
She blushes to think that you dare 

Till purple suffuses her cheek. 

Thy love has enriched her, Pierre ! 

She is draped in the splendor thereof ! 
Love's colors ! Ah ! what shall compare 

With the colors that filter from love ? 

Who gives the suggestion, Pierre ? 

" Behold the Bohemian vase ! — 
It purples and softens the glare 

Of the sunlight that falls on the glass ! " 

Who gives the suggestion, Pierre ? 

" It colors the hangings — the walls ! 
The roses ! the roses ! They share 

And blush in the glow as it falls ! " 

Thou hast painted the picture, Pierre, 

An elaborate jewel of art, 
With the tints of the delicate ware, 

Suffusing the leaves of a part. 

She is thine ! Thou hast won her, Pierre ! 

Love, love ! 'Tis a triumph divine ! 
The rose — the irradient, rare — 

The maiden thou lovest is thine. 

And thy life shall be richer, Pierre, 
For the light of thy Spirit's Desire, 

With splendors that drive to despair 
The imperial purple of Tyre ! 



THE CROSS IN THE BREAKERS. 525 



THE CROSS IN THE BREAKERS. 

"\ \ 7HERE a Spanish merchantman, 
Landward chased by the terrific 
Hurricane of the Pacific, 
On the ragged spikes and bosses, 
O'er the battlements and fosses 
Of the pitiless breakers ran; — 
Where a shattered wreck she lay, 
In the swash of sand and spray, 
There, 'mid rocks o'ergrown with moss, 
Pious hands upreared a cross. 

For, the seamen had held hard, 
When the galleon burst asunder, 
And her hull went lurching under ! 
Clung, — despairing, blind and battered, 
To a fragment of the shattered 
Mizzenmast and mizzenyard! 
With the gripe of death they clung, 
To the cross that swayed and swung, 
Grinding granite spike and boss, — 
Clung, despairing, to the cross ! — 

Till the storm was overpast, 
And the tempest ceased to clamor, 
And the splintered spar to hammer; 
Still the seamen, bruised and mangled 
On the rocks, in kelp betangled, 
Held till succor came at last ! 
Some bedazed, and chilled and dumb ; 
Pale, ice-cold, and rigid some ! — 



526 RIPPLE MARKS. 



In the breakers' lash and toss, 
Clung the seamen to the cross. 

So the seaweed clingeth there, 
As if trembling at the shadow 
And the shriek of the tornado! — 
Like the shivering ghosts of seamen 
Seeking refuge from the demon 
That commixes earth and air ! 
Round the cross its weakness winds, 
And the storm but closer binds ! 
Weaveth stem, and film, and floss ! 
Clings the seaweed to the cross ! 

Holy symbol of the Lord! 
When thy billows have gone o'er me, 
Me — a wreck in surges stormy, — 
And the voice of my outcrying 
In the agony of dying, 
Hopeless, rises heavenward, — 
Round it let my weakness clasp, 
Though I stiffen in the grasp! 
Closer still, in wreck and loss, 
Like the seaweed, to the cross ! 



SONG OF THE WORKINGMEN. 

"\ \ TR be workingmen, we ! 

Ours be shoulders labor-worn, 
Arms of brawn and hands of horn : 
Still, though sometimes overborne, — 
Still, though toil be paid with scorn, — 
Independent we ! 



SONG OF THE WORKINGMEN. S 2 7 

Not of the commune, we ! 
Corn should grow for him who delves : 
Heaven helps them that help themselves : 
But the secret tens and twelves 
Nurse a host of sponging elves ! 
Not of the Jacobins, we ! 

Not of the anarchists, we ! 
In the country of the free, 
All is hope for you and me : 
If there something higher be, 
Who shall have it, if not we ? 
Not of the levelers, we ! 

Not of agrarians, we ! 
Labor is not all a curse ! 
Toil is hard, but crime is worse ! 
Have we but an empty purse, 
That the morrow may reverse ! 
Not of the sand-lot, we ! 

Not of infidels, we ! 
Nay, and even if we were, 
Could a fellow-laborer 
To such Leader dare demur, 
As the Christ — the Carpenter? 
Nay, no infidels, we ! 

We are workingmen, we ! 
Christ his followers thus addressed : 
Whoso asks to be confessed 
Chief of all and lordliest, 
Should be servant to the rest ! 
We are servants, we ! 



528 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Though we journeymen be, 
Sometimes tramps, unhoused, unfed, 
Wanderers disinherited ! 
Still, of Some One was it said : 
" Not a where to lay his head ! " 
" Tramps ? " — And what was He ? 



We be laborers, we ! 
We behold benignant eyes, 
Bending on us from the skies, 
Telling us that we can rise, 
Only through self-sacrifice ! 
We be workingmen, we ! 



O 



THE EXODUS. 

UT of the south, 
Out of the lion's mouth, 
From the oppressor's rod, 
And from his bloody hand, 
Out of the bloody land, 
Lead us, O God ! 

Into the North, 

Wander we sadly forth, 
Facing the blinding snow 
Facing the blast whose breath 
Is the decree of death, 
Sadly we go. 

Terror behind 
Chases us, as the wind 
Chases the fleeing surge ! 



THE EXODUS. S 2 9 



Pity our woe and bale ! 
Pity our prayer and wail, 
Sobbing and dirge. 

Hopefully long 

Have we endured the wrong ! 
Christ ! if we once were slaves, 
Still must we be abased 
Still by the curse be chased 
Into our graves ? 

Scoffing and scorn 

Have we in silence borne, 
Watching the coming day, 
Willing to watch and wait, 
Hoping, till Night and Hate 
Vanish away. 

Law is defied ; 
Equity thrust aside, 

Bruised in the fray and scarred! 

Justice is put to flight ; 

And of our sacred right 
Are we debarred. 

Precepts divine 

Are as but pearls to swine, 

Even the church within 

Have we been thrust from Heaven, 

And by the clergy even 
Ostracised been! 

Nought have we done 
Which should their hate have won. 
Yet as from Tophet came 



530 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Bacchanals, Kukluks, ghouls, — 
Churches and homes and schools, 
Shrouding in flames ! 

Locusts that swarm 
Baleful in clouds, and storm, 
Caterpillar and larve 
More in our need had left : 
Victims of fraud and theft, 

Here must we starve ! 

We have been whipped — 
Whipped till the blood has dripped, 
When to our foes accursed 
We have the vote refused, 
Neither could be seduced, 
Neither coerced ! 

Cruelly oft 

Have they our shrieking scoffed, 
Calling it with a jeer 
"Waving the bloody shirt;" 
Thus to our rankling hurt 
Adding a sneer. 

Hypocrites ! — thus 

Driving all aid from us 

While they are armed and strong, 
Marshalled by Greed and Hate — 
Band to perpetuate 

Murderous wrong ! 

We have beheld 
Leaders and chiefs expelled 
Home and their kindred from ! 



THE EXODUS. 53 1 



Goodness could not prevent 
Obloquy, banishment, 
Or martyrdom ! 

Yea ! and they dare 

Murder the good John Gair! — 
Him and a dozen more! — 
Yea ! and a multitude 
Who by the Union stood 
During the war! 

Such have been slain ! 

And when the sons of Cain 

Mobbed them with wild huzzas, 
Murder was sanctioned — yes, 
Sanctioned by priest and press - 
And with applause ! 

Is it of Fate 

We are illiterate ? 

Their's is the blame, because 
Teaching the slave to read, 
Was, — were it book or screed — 
Crime by their laws ! 

If we be poor, 

At the oppressor's door 
Not at his victim's, sin 
Lieth ! our toilsome gain 
Adds to his wealth : our grain 
Filleth his bin ! 

All of our past 
Darkness hath overcast! — 
Sorrow and blood and tears ! 



532 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Still doth the darkness lower ; 
Rayless and hopeless our 
Future appears ! 

Evils like these; — 
Cumulate wrongs — disease 
Filling the poisoned air — 
Massacre : — like a hive 
Broken from hell, all drive 
Us to despair! 

Leave we our own 
Land, for a land unknown, 
Not from the olive's scent, 
Not from banana plumes, 
Not from magnolia's blooms 
Cometh content! 

Sunshine and bloom 
Can not relieve the gloom, 
Dismal and dense as hell's — 
Can not expel despair 
Out of the soul — where'er 
Slavery dwells ! 

Fair is the wreath ! — 
Be it but gorse — wherewith 
Freedom her brow enwreathes ! 
Balmy and soft the air — 
Though from the arctic — where 
Liberty breathes ! 

Guide us, O God! 
From the oppressor's rod, 
Out of our sorrow forth, 



STARVING. 533 



Out of the lion's mouth, 
Out of the cruel South, 
Into the North ! 

Teach us our way, 
Pillar of cloud by day, 
Pillar of fire by night ! 
Into the goodly land, 
With an almighty hand, 
Guide us aright ! 



W 



STARVING. 
HAT is this so clammy and cold 
Here at my side ! Pale — waxen and pale, — 
My baby — my baby ! Its pitiful wail 
I remember now ! To my shriveled breast 
How it famishing turned ! Poor bud, in its nest 
Dead — dead ! and but three days old ! 

Little heart, that no more shall beat ! 
Little blue lips and half shut eyes ! 
Little pale hands, that are petal-wise 
Folded together — and nails like wild, 
Frost-bitten blue bells ! O my child! — 

My baby blossom, that oped so sweet ! 

Opened as sweet as the blossoms of June ! 

Perished as quick as the blossoms of March 

Under the drip of the sleeted larch ! 

Cold ! — O cold as the seaweed is 

Swashed in the grey rocks' crevices ! 
Opened so sweet, to be closed so soon ! 



534 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Opened so sweet, to be closed too soon ! 
Is it too soon ? Oh ! better be dead 
Than live to be with a drunkard wed ! 
Better be dead, than live to curse 
Him whose child at your paps you nurse, 

By earth and stars and sun and moon ! 

Dead, my baby ! — dead ! It is well 

That they culled so quick my baby bud : 
Else were my hands besmeared with blood ; 
And my baby's heaven forevermore 
To my guilty spirit had shut the door — 

Baby, from thee ! — from thee — to hell ! 

Death ! I could kiss the skeleton lips 
Could press to his naked ribs my own, 
Skinny bone to the naked bone ! — 
Devils ! I'd kiss your lips of flame, 
And drink your breath as it sulphurous came, 

Could memory die with my soul's eclipse ! 

Starved, my baby ! The want that sapped 
All the milk from my withered breasts 
Emptied my veins ; and a fire infests 
Brain and blood, and clamors to feast 
On my frightened heart, like an unclean beast ; 

And my tears hath the tongue of the fever lapped ! 

Hark, to the tread ! I know it well : - 

Thy father's, my baby ! Ah, what surprise 
Will appear in his blear and drunken eyes 
As he looks on thee ! But he shall not shirk, 



STARVING. 535 



He shall take the reward of his devil's work — 
Come in, my dear, I have news to tell ! 

Not that I starve in a ragged bed, 
Helpless, deserted, despairing, so 
Like a maniac, — darling, for that you know : 
She who was once your happy bride, 
Standing so proud at her husband's side — 

Look at your bride, and your baby dead ! 

What ! do you shrink from the ghastly and lank 
Wreck that you see in my tattered vest ? 
Shrink and shudder ! May fiends unblest 
Haunt you, whether you wake or sleep, 
Till your eyes, like mine, can no longer weep, 

And you drink the fever, as I have drank. 

Why dost thou pause ? Thou art not afraid ? 
Eyes must glare with fever and pain, 
As the flashing grates of a blazing brain ! 
Fearest thy wife ? What fear of her, 
New from her travail she scarce can stir, 

Else had she brought her baby aid. 

Come, come in, my beloved ! — my spouse ! 
Your bride, it is true, is haggard and thin, 
And the bones are piercing her sallow skin, 
Unsightly and loathsome ? A-hunger thou sayst, 
Thou hungry must bide, or ever thou stayst 

Thy hunger with aught thou findst in the house. 

Yet wait ! Sit down at the table there, 
I will bring thee a dainty and delicate dish, 
As tender and toothsome as husband could wish ! 



53^ RIPPLE MARKS. 



There, monster, behold ! — my baby dead ! 
There is nothing else ! It is meat and bread ! 
Eat it, and take my curse for prayer ! 

Ha ! ' Tis the devil of madness reels 

In your drunken eye ! You are crazed and wild 
Like me ! ' Tis the finger of God, my child ! 
Ha, foam at the mouth ! Your slaver and spume 
Will lessen ! Let famine your blood consume, 

And hell pour on you its fiery seals ! 



NOT A WORD. 

To the Republican Convention, Chicago, iS8o. 

\70U have met in your convention, 
Office seekers in contention, 

In a platform have concurred ; 
And with wrangle and debate, 
You have named your candidate, 
But of all the landless thousands 
Of the workingmen, what mention ? 
Not a word ! 

In your platform give you token 
How the negro's chains were broken ! 

Shout it loud ! You shall be heard ! 
How you whipped the rebel horde ; 
How to peace the land restored ; 
How the Union reconstructed ; 
But for labor you have spoken 
Not a word ! 



NOT A WORD. 537 



Yes, you faced the shock of battle, 
That the negro might with cattle 
Of the field no longer herd. 
Have you voiced a clarion call 
For the Anglo-Saxon thrall ? 
For the toiler, whom the nabob 
Uses as his tool — his chattel ? 
Not a word ! 

With what wealth the land you gifted, 
How its credit you uplifted, 

Till its paper is preferred, 
And its bonds are bought and sold 
Everywhere at par for gold — 
That you tell, but of the taxes — 
To whose shoulders they were shifted, 
Not a word ! 

But too ludicrous for laughter 
Is your shout to roof and rafter 
In your lunacy absurd, 
That the dollar you have made — 
Gold and paper — one, in trade ! 
As if labor had not done it, 
And there could be said thereafter 
Not a word ! 

You proclaim, in rhetoric splendid, 
How the railroads you extended ; 

But how voters, hunger-spurred 
Turn, despairing, for their homes, 
To the city's fetid slums ! — 
Driven from their patrimony, 



538 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Which to robbers you have vended, 
Not a word ! 

Gone is all the land and water 
Yet, though the horse-leech's daughter, 
Clamors like a ravenous bird, 
Crying drearily — "Give ! give ! " 
Though the poor that still must live, 
To the struggle for existence 
Summon Pittsburgh strike and slaughter, 
Not a word! 

Statesmen be ye ? and civilians ? 
Couriers of thought ? Postillions 

Who impetuous have shirred, 
In advance, where lies your task ? 
Not a word ? — and yet you ask 
To be trusted with the guidance 
Of the fate of fifty millions ! — 
Not a word ! 

O the fall ! — the retrogression ! 
When the dragon of secession 

From the blue drew down a third 
Part of all the stars of Heaven, 
Brave as Michael, with the leaven 
Of your courage, all the angels 
You infused. Now, 'gainst oppression, 
Not a word ! 

Not a word from you can waken, 
When Monopoly, the kraken, 

Slavery's kith and mate, hath stirred 



NOT A WORD. 539 



All corruption's depths, and holds 
Wedged amid her shiny folds, 
Land and water, — judges, law, and 
Legislatures — all are taken ! — 
Not a word ! 

Ware ! — the people's trust is ending ! 
Ware ! — for judgment is impending! 
You have lamentably erred 
If you think to stave it off 
Or to scape it with a scoff 
And a sneer about the commune ? 
What shall bar the bolts descending ? 
Not a word ! 

Dumb ! — as if with silence smitten ! 
Dumb ! — as if by dumbness, bitten ! 

Ah ! your doom is but deferred ! 
When the fatal hour is come 
You shall then perforce be dumb ! 
You shall plead in mitigation, 
When your sentence once is written, 
Not a word ! 

Shade of Lincoln ! Mighty master ! 
On the cliffs of alabaster 

Are thine eyes with sorrow blurred ? 
Tell us, thou of honest life, 
That the truest statesmanship 
Is the simplest justice, and that 
Wrong is breeder to disaster, 
Speak the word ! 



540 RIPPLE MARKS. 



That a state on robbery grounded 
Shall in ruin lie confounded ; 

But the basements if we gird 
With the adamantine might 
Of imperishable right, 
Then, in equity symmetric 
Will the dome rise — star surrounded ! 
Speak the word ! 



HIDDEN GREAT. 

*T^HE great unheeded walk amid 

The city's whirling maze 
Unheeded as the dead they thrid 
Its devious, peopled ways. 

They pass away, and then our eyes 

Are opened, and we see 
Still radiant through the closing skies 

The risen Deity. 

Small greatness in you blind old man 

The Grecian courtier sees, 
But Homer's name comes ringing down 

The echoing centuries. 

Small greatness sees the populace, 
Beneath Will Shakspeare's hat, 

Though England's mistress hear his plays, 
And nightly laugh thereat. 



HIDDEN GREAT. 541 

And yet the world for heroes seek 

Expectant of the birth, 
Of massy minds, God-sculptured, dropped 

Upon the waiting earth ! 

The hungry herd a hero seek, 

And offer praise and laud, 
Where'er a vender cries his wares, 

His pottery glazed and flawed ! 

And o'er their broken teraphim 

They saddened wail and sore, 
" Ye've taken away my gods from me, 

And now what have I more ? " 

The true meanwhile live, all unknown, 

Neglected and forgot, 
The hero comes unto his own, 

His own receive him not. 

Phillips and Emerson ! who could know 

That in our Athens were 
The world's first living philanthropist, and 

Its first philosopher ! 

But is the picture less the same 

That no propitious chance 
Has set it in the showy frame 

Of gilded circumstance ? 

Yet Genius toileth not for nought, 

And still it strews along, 
The massy rocks of granite thought, 

The boulders huge of song — 



54 2 RIPPLE MARKS. 

That yet through all the centuries vast 

Shall lie above the sod, 
To mark what way our glacier passed — 

The footsteps of the god ! 



MIDNIGHT WORSHIP. 

T N solemn night when through the blue abysses, 

The vestal moon slow moves with silver censer, 
And earth withdraws, and Care the soul releases, 
To feelings more exalted and intenser. 

When beaming forth their candelabrum golden 
Of seven branches 'neath the sapphire arches, 

The Pleiades go forth as Levites olden, 
That bore the tabernacle in their marches. 

My thoughts as acolytes are burning 

Their midnight tapers, and toward the altar 

Within the veil are reverent lips upturning 

To join with chorus unseen their midnight psalters. 

Here turns my heart to Thee. Thou that receivest 
Worship from angels, and from every creature. 

Thou all my being with love inweavest, 

Till I shall bear each lineament and feature. 

My soul is priest and king, — more than the olden 
Levites that bare their ark upon their marches, 

Or Pleiades with candelabrum golden, 

And seven branched, in the sapphire arches. 



THE WATERS I 543 



EL MONTE — HYMN. 

^pHE Lord —a mighty God is He : 

A tower of strength his name, 
A refuge where his saints may flee, 
And his protection claim. 

Behind the adamantine wall, 

So beautiful and strong, 
No peril shall their soul appall, 

Nor foe can do them wrong. 

Impregnable their fortress is ; 

For what can ere displace 
The bulwarks of his promises — 

The gateways of his grace ? 

One at the portal ever stands 

To hold it open wide ; 
And blood is flowing from his hands, 

And from his wounded side. 

Look up, my heart ! Thy fears above 

Above thy troubles rise ! 
Thy refuge is a Father's love — 

A Saviour's sacrifice. 



THE WATERS!* 

P ARTH born they spurn the skies — and soon from 
*— those 

Summits sublime, adown the vale there flows 



* Unfinished. 



544 RIPPLE MARKS. 



The headlong torrent ! 'Tis the shameful race 

Of violence, which of its own motion throws 
Itself into the abyss, and seeks its place 

Down in the depths — to hide its misbegotten face ! 
And lo ! from the affrighted plains there comes 

The cry of terror — for the ramparts burst 
At the wild onset of the mountain gnomes 

That sweep in hordes, like the fell race accursed, 
Which once for Rome implacate Scythia nursed ! 

Through the vast swamps they rush — a maddening 
mass — 
Foaming and seething and crashing — like the first 

Onset of battle : — The forests where they pass 
Bending, as to the scythe, or to the tempest, bends the 
grass ! 

The burdened river frets beneath its load 
Foaming and champing as a midnight steed 

Through the Huzz forest of witches or by imps 
bestrode, — 
Or maddened bison, when the swarming breed 

Of gnats voracious, cause his flanks to bleed : — 
So foams and fumes the river — as it had 

Itself become a monster — such as feed 
Amid its shiny shores — and stung and mad 

It groans and writhes afar through vista and colon- 
nade ! — 
The driftwood on its arching spine is tossed, 

With floating forests his back is knobbed and bossed, 
And the huge trunks he tosses in his wrath 

Like the straw floats by the behemoth tossed 
Upon the Niger ! Woe unto him who hath 

His frail plantation near the Titan's path ! — 



IN LOCO PARENTIS. 545 

A brush from his huge shoulders — and the wall 

Gives way at once — The mammoth smites 
Them to the gulf — fields, mansions, all — 

With a wild cry of anguish — helpless fall ! 
Or if not thus : the river leaps the dyke 

With jaws afoam and bristling and tawny mane ! — 
Then prone he wallows on the enameled plain, 

And buries in his slime the growing cane ! 
He laps with cooling tongue the tender rice 

Like a behemoth — as if he would fain 
Devour the worlds — then gorged he palpitating lies 

While his huge flanks with horrible rhythm fall and 
rise. 



IN LOCO PARENTIS. 
1S68. 

TT'ATE, with her great blue eyes and golden hair, 

And cheeks like two ripe peaches, came one day 
To me at hour of noon, and laid her fair 

White hand in mine, and stole my heart away. 
For, from the fountains of those azure eyes, 

A wealth of love gushed beaming into mine, 
Through smiles like sunbeams in midsummer skies, 

And tears that trembled like the beads on wine. 

The fragrant rose lips parted, and she said, 
" You are to be my teacher-mother now, 

Because my other — other — mother's dead." 

I answered not, but stooped and kissed her brow, 

And when her hands clasped mine convulsively, 
I gave their pressure back — I could no less — 



546 RIPPLE MARKS. 

And then I seemed to feel, I knew not why, 
Come over me a mother's tenderness. 

"The parent's place." I held the darling, and 
Recalled anew the lesson of the law ; 
And at each pressure of the little hand, 

More clearly I the new relation saw, 
And yet ? — I twined my fingers with a curl, 

And scarce controlled my utterance as I spake, 
" Yes, you shall be my own dear little girl, 

And I will love you for your mother's sake." 

I looked up, and I saw a gentleman — 

A stranger, and I felt a blush like flame 
Suffuse my face, and awkwardly began 

To make apologies, but ceased for shame. 
She spoke : " Why papa, is it you ? Why this 

Is my own teacher-mamma ! " and he, while 
She emphasized her period with a kiss, 

Stood with a serious and embarrassed smile. 



Yes, I am very happy in his love 

And hers ; but in the darling that hath drawn 
Its life from mine, all else I rise above, 

And waken to a new and holier dawn. 
O teacher ! thy responsibility 

However felt, is from thyself apart ; 
A mother only can a mother be ; 
A mother only knows a mother's heart. 



ARABIA. 547 



ARABIA.* 

T AND of the prophet, from whose rugged summits 

Three worlds diverge, and radiate three races ; 
The mother of philosophers, whose plummets 

Dropt into the abyss of thought, leave traces 
That ever circling, give to other sages 
Motive and theme, through the unending ages. 

Mother of prophets, who on thy bosom didst 

Nurse the three greatest, Moses, Christ, Mahomet ! 

Mother of constellations who createst 

The heavenly leaders, star and sun and comet — «- 

Star may chase star, brother may wrong brother, 

But all must reverence thee, the common mother. 

The scorn of Sarah, outcast and a beggar, 
Dying of thirst upon thy hard enamel, 

Amid thy wilds, the hunted son of Hagar 
Grew to a king, the lord of man and camel, 

To-day a sovereign upon the olden 

Throne of the Jew, sits Ishmael's son the Soldan! 

And thou wast nurse to Moses, when from Pharo 
He fled for shelter to the tents of Jethro, — 

Boundless deserts weaned him from the narrow 
Conventionalities of courts, and in thine ether 

His soul grew pure like it, more transparent, purer : 

And on thy rocks his manhood, firmer, surer! 

From thy free air he caught its inspiration ! 
The court of Pharo with its petty scandals, 

* Unfinished. 



548 RIPPLE MARKS. 



The aimless life controlled by freak and passion — 

What were they to the hero, when his sandals 
Trod on thy holy ground, before the burning 
Bush that consumed not, like his own heart's yearning! 

Yes, 'twas a rugged nurture which thou gavest, 
Such nurture as make men struggle, endeavor ; 

Exposure, hardship, these are what the bravest 
And best are nursed on, men that perish never, 

Men of vast grasp, and infinite resources, 

Who move as move the planets in their courses. 

So luminous, so pure and stedfast, Moses 

Grew 'neath thy nurture ; he, who else were leman 

Perchance 'mid Pharaoh's maids, and lapped in roses, 
Became the leader of a band of freemen ! — 

A mighty prophet, in both word and wonder, 

Who talked with God amid thy Sinai's thunder. 

And thou wast nurse to Israel, when the surges 
Of the Red Sea tossed him from its baptismal 

Roughly upon thy borders, while the dirges 

Of Pharaoh's host came shrieking from the dismal 

Spray shrouded billows — ever higher and wider, 

And ever dissonant with death scream of horse and 
rider ! 

Thou watched o'er him from the sapphire arches 
Where watched the angel from the fiery pillar 

As Israel rested from the desert marches ! 

Still were his camps — but thine above were stiller ! — 

The hosts of worshipped Sirius and Aldebaran 

With richer ritual than the sons of Aaron. 



ARABIA. 



549 



Thou sawest all the miracles — the manna 

That fed the people — Aaron's rod that budded — 

The smitten rock that made green a savanna 
In the desert — the flaming cloud that brooded 

Awful o'er Sinai, when the law was given 

And with an audible voice God spake from Heaven ! 

And through the vista of the ages beameth 

A godlike form, like that which 'mid the burning 

And fiery furnace walked, its splendor gleameth 
Soft as the day star through the mist of morning ! 

A dove descending from the eagle's aery — 

The Lamb, Immaculate — the Son of Mary. 

Land of the Phoenix ! That was then no fable 
Which the old poets feigned. But poetic 

Conception which was all unutterable 
Except in symbol, or by the magnetic 

Transmission of ideas — that thought creation 

God's gift to genius, which is inspiration. 

Thought is self-crystallized in words, in science, 
In arts, religion, custom, institutions : 

First aids, then trammels ; and from the alliance 
Which cripples it it breaks ; new evolutions 

Of thought create new forms ; anew to sever 

Themselves ; and this forever and forever. 

That is the fable of the Phoenix, Moses 

Embodying his thought in Judaism ; 
The ages pass ; the riper time discloses 

Within the system its essential schism ; 



550 RIPPLE MARKS. 

It sings its own death song : and dies, its bosom 
Already with a richer thought a-blossom. 

As the rough shell that within its heart enfoldeth 
The perfect pearl, pure as the gate of heaven, 

As the rough cave within its bosom holdeth 

The stone which flashes starry splendor from heaven, 

As the cloud that when some fair star illumeth 

Its dark abysses, into glory bloometh, 

So shone thy rocks afar like polished opal : — 
As hagged nurse, thou with an impulse tender, 

Didst give a shelter to the holy couple 

And to the child ; and something of his splendor 

Is thine ; and lights thy crown with its auroral 

Outflashing, and blends the sunlight with the laurel. 

Thou hast a freedom, not of grants and charters, 
But whereunto thy sword hath shown thee worthy 

For thine were other crowns than those which martyrs 
And scholars bear ; upon thy forehead swarthy 

Flashes the circlet of the Amazon natal — 

And birthright, wretched, from the bloody hand of 
Battle ! 



PUENTE HILLS.* 

r "PHE course of the Puente hills 

Is like the moon's before she fills, 
But many a dimple, many a knoll, 
Marks where the wavy outlines roll, 
Up from San Gabriel's sandy bed, 
By beckoning morning eastward led, 

* Unfinished. 



PUENTE HILLS. 55 I 

To the bright rivals of her ray 

The fountains of the San Jose. 

From cool pellucid pools amid 

The tangled grass and sedges hid, 

Their liquid sunlight they distil 

By crystal thread and gurgling rill, 

Into a lakelet, clear and broad, 

A mirror, fleckless and unflawed, — 

Save as the wood duck guides his barge 

From bloom to bloom, from marge to marge, 

Or wild swan dips his wing of snow 

To touch the mate that floats below, 

Or blue crane wooes the brilliancy 

Beneath him of his matchless eye : 

Or brow to cool or thirst to slake 

Bends stately weed or braided brake. 

Entrancing ! It doth not surprise 

When bursts upon the lifted eyes 

As if had been transformed to stone — 

By some strange witchery wrought thereon — 

With charms that still the dells might haunt — 

To rock — the enchanted elephant ! 

The watchful guardian of the springs 

Where nightly he his shadow flings, 

As if some witch or jealous fay, 

His amulet had stolen away, 

And left him helpless till the spell 

Was woven that upon him fell, 

A spell that mortal cannot break, 

That doomed him never to awake ! 

So high his crest, that well the view 
Rewardeth him that climbs thereto — 



552 RIPPLE MARKS. 

The hills indent with dells and coves ; 
Pomona, and its orange groves ; 
The woody mesa spread below 
The gorge of San Antonio ; 
The mountain's awful dome uplift 
Above the welkin's opal drift ; 
And Cucamonga's cragged head 
With granite bossed and helmeted, 
And vineyards bursting at his feet 
Their fragrant wines and balsam sweet - 
And the long spur outstretched oblique 
That marks the mouth of Lytle creek. 
Nor pauses there the eye but seeks 
Reposing on the serried peaks, 
San Bernardino, lofty, high, 
His naked forehead to the sky, 
Pure and unutterably fair 
As clouds that float in summer air. 
The San Gorgonio pass — the tall 
Turrets of San Jacinto's wall — 
The valley Santa Anna — seas 
Of green about her villages ; — 
And the four spurs of Temescal ; 
And many a lonely sheep corral ; 
And many a ranch and many a grange, 
By hillside spring or mountain range : 
So high the crest, that where we stand 
The sheep seem but as grains of sand ; 
And yonder flies, as we divine, 
Are a stout herdsman and his kine : 
And on the valley's dimpled arms 
Is Spadra with its checkered farms, 



PUENTE HILLS. ^ 



Its homes, — eggs in a grassy nest, 

Or swans upon a lakelet's breast, 

School, smithy, store ; and quaint hotel 

Squat as a tortoise in its shell — 

Or like a lazy Tyrolese 

Half flat upon his face and knees, 

To catch the sunny warmth dispread, 

With peasant hat to screen his head,' 

A happy peasant ! He reclines 

Amid a greenery of vines, 

And sparrow's chirp, and linnet's lay 

Are floating in the fragrant spray 

Of orange and acacia : 

And none can well the fare disdain • 

Who once hath dined there comes again; 

And none can e'er forget who sees 

The face aglow with charities, 

The gentle and the loving eye, 

The patience and serenity 

Of the dear dame, who sits and waits 

Until the angel opes the gates ! 

And none who meets can e'er forget, 

And none can leave without regret, ' 

And none who leaves will elsewhere see 

A nobler man whoe'er he be 

Than him who keeps the hostelry! 

Close to the hill as if it were 

Cut out of a projecting spur 

A noble mansion is, wherein 

Goodness shall find her kith and kin ! 

The bluff good nature of its lord, 

Her grace who queens it at his board ! — 



554 RIPPLE MARKS. 



The open doors ! Ah ! happy he 
Who shares their hospitality. 

This crest so high in early spring 
With thousand flowers is blossoming, 
So high the crest, the wild geese skim 
Just o'er it as the air they swim ; 
So close you see their fat beneath 
And less you fright them fear to breathe. 
Two canons, one from either side, 
Behind the sleeping mammoth hide, 
And tortuous wind, by crag and peak, 
Like lizards playing hide and seek. 

Here end Puente's hills as if 
Their pile of grassy knob and cliff 
Were emerald links — a chain inwove, 
And this the porphyry seal thereof — 
This — signet of the earthquake king — 
And they his enameled, jeweled ring. 

By the canon walls entombed 

The shadows were of night, but soon 

All the forest and coppice assumed, 
In the weird light of the moon, 

Infinite change of forms grotesque — 

Bird and beast and arabesque. 

And all along the solemn mountain range 

The kneeling spurs were bowed with reverent head 

Toward one hoar shrine, irradiant, 

Immaculate in snowy vestiture, 

And mounting to the ether and the stars. 



THE TELLOW FEVER. 555 



FLITTING. 

T \ JE all are birds in cages, flitting, flitting 

From upper perch to nether, up and down, 
And down and up again. This perch our home, 
And this our toil, or farm, or shop, or office, — 
Flitting and flitting through our little space 
We never pass the wires. The very world 
Is but a cage, hedged in with glistening stars, 
And hung with cords invisible — it swings 
By winds ethereal moved, and in it we 
Find our frail pinions and our vision pent. 



THE YELLOW FEVER — 1878. 

THE POET. 

T^O Rachel's cry, that comes from glade and valley, 
Give back, O Earth ! — the bitter wail of anguish ! 
Wail ! wail ! for never read can keep the tally 
Of them that perish and of them that languish. 

From marsh and tank the spectre has arisen ! — 
From poisoned lands and still more poisonous waters ! 

From putrid ships — from hospital and prison! 
Till more the dead than pitiless Battle slaughters ! 

From slimy swamps and fathomless morasses 

Where hideous caymen sleep in noisome hollows — 

Where the dark river breaks through his crevasses, 
When Terror leads and Desolation follows. 

Wail ! wail ! O Earth ! thy smitten sons and daughters ! 
Wail ! wail ! with Rachel's bitter cry of anguish ! 



556 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Sob ! sob ! sea ! and all thy mourning waters ! — 
For them that perish, and for them that languish ! 

THE DEAD RESPOND. 

Not so, O poet ! though the cry of sorrow- 
Sad Earth gives forth, the jubilant Grave rejoices : 

Yours you may love to-day : but we to-morrow 

Shall see their smiles and hear their loving voices. 

Yea, though a thousand fever fiends beleaguer 

You would not dread nor shrink from their consuming, 

O loving ones ! if you but knew how eager 
And lonely watch we, and await your coming ! 

Yea, you that yet on earth would fondly linger, 
Dreading the grave and shrinking from its portal, 

When once hath Death but touched you with his finger, 
Shall live, like us, transfigured and immortal. 

And we, your dead, who dwell the darkness under, 
When they who suffer long — the sick and ailing, — 

When these have passed to their repose, we wonder 
At your distress, and pity you your wailing. 

For wheresoe'er the fever comes our angels 

Do winged haste to win you from your sadness ; 

And have — could you but hear them — glad evangels 
Upon their lips — the voice of joy and gladness. 

Ah ! if the jealous earth would but surrender 

Our darling ones ! small matter where they place 
you ! 

We that have gone before you, with our tender 
And loving arms would speedily embrace you ! 



THE YELLOW FEVER. 557 

For Sereneness smiles at foolish passion, 

For gaud and show, which pride hath made habitual, 

The solemn funeral rites — the long procession, 
The rich sarcophagus — the pomp and ritual, — 

At them who would the various ways to Hades 

Wall in with all punctilio observant, 
And would be horrified to have a ladie's 

Remains contaminated with a servant. 

Ah, who, when life no longer burns and flashes, 
Can long distinguish Sarah's bones from Hagar's ? 

Or who can tell by raking o'er the ashes, 

Which is a millionaire's and which a beggars ? 

The Pestilence presents his poisoned flagon 
And Death distils his vintage amethystine 

And Hope is on the threshold fallen as Dagon 
At Dawning in the door of the Philistine ! 

Come ! we have waited long and you are weary ! 

Come ! come ! and join us in our peaceful slumber ! 
Come, while the fever chants its miserere, 

Come to the hosts that mortal can not number ! 

For ours are quiet glades and cool recesses 

Beneath the waving grass and polished marble — 

Beneath the brooks that nestle in the cresses — 
Beneath the cataracts that coo and warble. 

O happy we ! who from our toils have rested ! 

Our peaceful eyes the welcome morn uncloses ! 
By strife and clamor never more molested, 

Through the long day the weary soul reposes ! 



55 8 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Sweet is the calm that hath nor change nor ending ! 

Sweet are the halls beneath the silent shadows ! — 
Sweet with pale light illumined — far transcending 

The glories of a thousand Eldorados. 



EUGENIE. 
is 79 . 
CHE paceth through her stately halls, 
In sable vestiture arrayed, 
As if she were a ghostly shade, 
And glided forth from charnel walls. 

But half ejaculated prayers, 

And wringing hands and sobs suppressed, 
And eyes all tears, and heaving breast, 

Reveal the mortal form she bears. 

Despair smites all the jarring chords : 
Her heart is agonized with pain : 
And grief she can no more restrain, 

She gives to incoherent words : 

" Wail, wail ! wind of the South ! 

Tremble, stars of the Southern skies ! 
As ye glance where the fallen soldier lies ! 
Kiss, ye dews, the pale, cold mouth 
Of my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" Dead, dead ! Slain in the wild ! 
Left to suffer and die alone ! 
And the heavens above him smiling shone ! 



EUGENIE. 559 



Christ ! could nothing save my child ? 
O my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" Woe ! woe ! me the discrowned ! 

Childless mother and widowed wife ! 
With a burden forever on heart and life ! 
Him they pierced, but mine the wound ! 
O my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" Yestreen — only yestreen — 

He a babe in his dimpling charms ! 
How he hung to my neck with loving arms! 
He ! thy son, — discrowned Queen ! 
O my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" True man ! Death he defied ! 

Daring, — scorning the stirrup, — leaped 
To the saddle, and like a tempest swept, 
Bearing down the savage tide ! 
O my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" Prince born was he ? The heir — 

Rightful heir — of the matchless name 
Of Napoleon ? And ancestral fame — 
Sceptered glory — lieth there ! 
O ! my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! 

" Woe ! woe ! Sorrow and woe ! 
Never mother so hapless as I ! 
If the merciful God would let me die, 



560 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Happy, happy would I go 
To my brave, slain son! — 
Napoleon ! 

" O thou ! mother of God ! 
Mary pitiful, pity me ! 
In the depths of my grief I turn to thee ! 
Let me pass beneath the sod, 
To my brave, slain son ! — 
Napoleon ! " 

And still she paceth to and fro, 

A shadow 'mong the shadows — still 
Her moanings break their bars, and fill 

The night with unavailing woe. 

Nor hers alone are tears and sighs : 
Ah, lady ! though thy lips were dumb, 
Thy woes were heard ; to heaven from 

A myriad bosoms do they rise. 

Thou art remembered in the prayers 
Of those who at the altar kneel : 
For all who have a heart to feel, 

Have felt thy grief and made it theirs, 

As every billow gives response, 
If one have sobbed a secret grief, 
As to the wind that stirs a leaf 

Awaken all the woods at once, — 

As, trembling, pass from hill to hill, 
The pulses of the shuddering earth, 
Until they all the world engirth, 

Thus through all hearts thy sorrows thrill ! 



THE REAPER. 56 1 



THE REAPER. 

T COME for the grain ! — the grain ! 
And I grasp the stalk with my claws, 
And clip them clean with my jaws, 
And strew them along the plain ! 

For the grain it is mine ! — is mine ! 
And I watch from the barn, as it grows 
From the earth upshooting, and blows 

To zephyr and shower and shine. 

It ripens to be like the sun, 
And I watch it color and grow 
To shimmering gold ; and the glow 

Of the ripples that over it run. 

I know it is mine ! — is mine ! 

And for me it ripens ! — and then 
I feel the madness of men — 

Of men that are maddened with wine. 

Though now for the first appears 
The gleam of my form divine : 
I dwelt in the forest and mine 

For a hundred thousand years ! 

My thews are of steel ! — of steel ! 
And my bones are oaken, and stout, 
And they will never give out ; 

And weariness never I feel ! 



562 RIPPLE MARKS. 



The horses that toil for me — 

They pant and tremble and sweat ! 
And the men — their foreheads are wet, 

And they ache from shoulder to knee. 

These men — they are breath ! — but breath ! 

But mortal, and born to die ! 

But brother to Time am I — 
The brother of Time and Death ! 

We laugh at the host — the host ! 

That tumbles our tramp beneath ; 

And the sound of our crunching teeth 
Is the music we love the most ! 

Ha ! sweeter than poet's rhyme 
That sweetheart singeth or saith, 
Is the crumble of bones to Death, 

And the crumble of granite to Time ! 

Worlds and men are for them, 

And they fill the aeons with slain ; 
Mine is the ripened grain, 

And I level it stock and stem ! 



For grain and man and star 

Must perish — the kin of clods ! 
But I am one of the gods, 

And this is my avatar ! 



MT CALVES COME RUNNING HOME. 563 



MY CALVES COME RUNNING HOME. 

To A. H. H. El Monte, July 7, 1SS0. 

"T^IS eve, but many a fay with ray 

On ray still tints the leaves, 
And still inlacing light and spray 

His busy shuttle weaves, 
The ribbons ripple down and dip 

Amid the daisy foam, 
Where gambolling as mountain roes 

My calves come running home, 

For day is done : the setting sun 

Glints through the pillared wold, 
Whose lichened aisles and viny halls 

Are hung with draperied gold. 
Ah me ! beneath such canopy, 

If love with love could roam ! 
Through fragrant ferns and mosses, when 

My calves come running home. 

At morning go my calves afield, 

At morn go I to plow — 
At morn's first blink when bobolink 

Is singing on the bough. 
We sing our lay of love all day, 

And still I plow the loam ; 
And still we trill the song until 

My calves come running home. 

At morn they trip through dewy drip 
And balmy clover stars ; 



564 RIPPLE MARKS. 



At eve they through the barley skip 

And amble through the bars. 
My fancies fleet through dreamlands sweet, — 

Dear Margaret Macomb, — 
Through leas more fair than be where 

My calves come running home. 



LOVE'S RESPONSE. 

San Antonio Canon, Cal., July 29, 1S78. 

'"PHE long, long day, in eons long ago, 

The long, long day came breezes from the Sea 
Love-laden to the Mountain, breathing low : 

" These are the offerings of the loving Sea — 

To thee, O Mount, to thee." 

All day she watched him with love-hungry eyes 
And bosom throbbing and panting ; while the hot 

And palpitant plain was tremulous with her sighs ; 

Yet all day long the Mountain heeded not, 
And cared not or forgot. 

Nor cared when even came and worn and faint, 
She fell asleep, from cark and care at rest, 

When gentle skies bent low to her complaint, 
And dropped fair roses on her azure vest 
And half-uncovered breast. 

But when night came, and troops of marshalled stars 
In golden harness stood about the throne 

Of the proud Mountain : Sirius and Mars, 
And princely hosts in heaven widely known, 
Mailed in resplendence shone : — 



HASSAN BEN HASSAN. 565 



Then knew he what poor offset for the lack 

Of love, are mountain heights and thrones and 
crowns ; 
Then knew that kings with armies at their backs 
May envy well the happiness of clowns 
Amid the unfertile downs. 

Then love awakened love : and evermore 
By day the Ocean breezes landward flow : 

And Mountain breezes nightly to the shore 
Bear loving messages, as long ago — 
In eons long ago. 

The long, long day, in eons long ago, 

The long, long day, came breezes from the Sea, 

Love-laden to the Mountain, breathing low : 
" These are the offerings of the loving sea, 
To thee, O Mount, to thee." 

Now, all night long, in a continuous flow, 

The long, long night, come breezes to the Sea, 
Love-laden from the Mountain, breathing low : 
" These are the Mountain's offerings to thee, 
To thee, O Sea ! to thee ! " 



HASSAN BEN HASSAN. 



JJTASSAN BEN HASSAN, who was newly wed, 

Unto his beauteous young bride spake and said 
" There is no lovelier wife than you to day 
Of all the women in Circassia. 



566 RIPPLE MARKS. 



You will be happy in your later years, 

Your daughters will be chosen by viziers, 

In Stamboul famous, and in Ispahan, 

And one shall be the favorite bride of the Sultan. 

" Hers shall it be, to sit in sumptuous state, 
While round a hundred maids obsequious wait ; 
Hers to recline in the seraglio halls, 
On marble pavements, spread with Cashmere shawls, 
While vocal fountains in the sunlight play, 
And gold-fish sport beneath the falling spray, 
And music lulls, and dark eyed odalisques 
Dance at her beck beneath the odorous tamarisks. 

" Hers shall it be, arrayed in rich attire, 

To wake the monarch's soul to fond desire ; 

Hers through the silver nargileh to breath, 

The fragrant fumes, whose curls with hers enwreathe ; 

Her lips more tempting than the iced sherbet, 

Her eyes, more lustrous than her gems of jet, 

And through their lashes languidly invite 

Her lord and love to dalliance and delight." 

The years passed by, and sons and daughters stood 

Perfect in manhood and in womanhood. 

But though the maids the sovereign's halls might 

grace ; 
Inferior maids were chosen for the place. 
Silent and swift the years have passed away, 
And now, ben Hassan and his wife grown grey, 
Around their home behold, with gladdened eyes, 
Their children's children, beautiful and healthful rise. 



THE CONVICT CLERK. 567 



But when the messenger of the vizier, 
Or the Sultan, came dangerously near, 
Ben Hassan took his children, and in dread 
And consternation, to the mountains fled. 
"Ah wife," he said, "our own too well we prize 
To wish to have them fair in stranger eyes ! 
Let name and fame be theirs to whom they come ; 
But us! Great Allah! spare us still our Love' and 
Home ! " 



THE CONVICT CLERK. 

jLTE stood before his plate-glass door, 

A merchant prince was he, 
And back and forth he paced the floor, 
As proud of his degree. 

And well he might be. Goodly wares 

And wondrous to behold, 
Rose, —piles and piles, from shelves and stairs, 

And counters — fold on fold ; 
All beautiful, and some were worth 

Their weight in virgin gold. 

And Flanders lace, and Indian shawls, 

And muslins and delaines, 
Hung like old tapestry on the walls, — 

And satins and gros-grains. 

So, bland as sunshine on the woods, 

Where with the flowers he lurks, 
The merchant smiled upon his goods, 

And smiled upon his clerks. 



568 RIPPLE MARKS. 

For, oft as opes the plate-glass doors, 

The busy hive bestirs ; 
And corps of clerks wait on the corps 

And corps of customers. 

And who is this that enters now ? — 

This lady, fair and tall, 
With eye serene and placid brow, 

Like Eve's before the fall ? 

It is the deacon's wife. We saw 

Her bent with reverent head 
In church, on Sunday last, to take 

The sacramental bread. 

And when the pastor's faltering tongue 

Told how the Crucified, 
Forgave the penitent thief who hung 

Beside him as he died. 

The story sorely smote her ears ; 

And suffocating sighs 
Burst from her troubled breast ; and tears 

Suffused her lifted eyes. 

Why shrinks she now ? To so much worth 

What sudden pain is given ? 
Her brow is now as Eve's when forth 

From Eden's garden driven. 

She speaks. Her angry words are brief : 

" I beg to tell you, sir, 
You have in your employ a thief ! 

I can not trade with her ! 



THE CONVICT CLERK. 569 

" It is a shame — a burning sin 

And shame to give her work ! 
I saw her last a prison within, 

I see her now a clerk ! 

" You knew it, did you ? But you learn 

She is reformed and good — 
A Christian — and is here to earn 

An honest livelihood ? 

" A leman's lie ! Its falsity 

Is patent through and through ! 
And, if you keep her still, I will 

No longer trade with you ! " 

Man ! man ! A thousand crimes are his ! — 

Their fruit a thousand wrecks ! 

His crimes a thousand are ! 
But unto woman, woman is 

By far the sterner sex, 

The sterner sex by far ! 

Poor human nature ! Ah ! how weak 

And fragile at its best ! 
The merchant ! — will his virtue break ? — 

Or will it bear the test ? 

Ah ! now before his plate-glass door, 

No merchant prince is he ! 
In agony he treads the floor, 

Then stoops from his degree. 

The poor — poor girl, in shame, to shame 
Was pitiless driven forth ! 



5/0 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Christ ! That thus they make thy name 
A scoffing on the earth ! 

Yet who shall judge ! By Him above, 

Alone, our hearts are known : 
And yet we know the Lord is Love, 

And Love will claim his own ! 

Poor girl ! Perhaps the Voice will say 

To thee, amid thy sighs : 
" Fear not ; for thou shalt be this day 

With me in Paradise." 



CO speak the folded buds upon the rose, 
^~* That promise, when the emerald censers ope, 
Beauty and fragrance : " 'Till the South wind blows, 
Wait and Hope." 

And so the morning star, with glowing feet 

Chasing the darkness up the eastern slope, 

While waves of light against the horizon beat, 

"Wait and Hope." 

Not to the darkness turn thine eyes away, 

But ever sunward, like the heliotrope ! 
The night forever fleeth from the day ! 
Wait and Hope ! 



EARLY PIETT. 571 



EARLY PIETY. 

El Monte, Cal., 1880. 

T WOULD not choose my son another portion, 

Were but one choice conferred on me of heaven, 
Than early piety — the soul's immersion 

In purity ! And, what better could be given ? 
The choice of Solomon ! Gift, richest, fairest, 
Supremest, most enduring, and the rarest ! 

To have the memories of a life all wasted, 

Or worse than wasted, croaking from the rheumy 

Marish of age himself, unsightly, blasted, 
Riven and cursed, a ruin such as gloomy 

Despair forbodes from Urim and from Thummim, 

May God in his great love avert it from him ! 

Thou purity ! To be amid the reeking, 
Insufferable filth of earth an angel, — 

Walking with robe unsoiled — and erect, speaking 
As Christ once spake — the beautiful evangel 

Of justice, by an upright life to utter — 

To be a lily springing from the gutter ! 

Oh ! is it but an idle dream ? — the vagrant 

And misty phantom of imagination ? 
Or must the loveliness of youth be flagrant 

With burning lust — the crucible of passion! 
And can Omnipotence — the wholly Gracious — 
Only awaken piety from ashes ? 

Alas ! — alas ! It is not that the crudeness, 
And bitterness of greenness need the action 



572 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Of time and sunshine, to develop goodness 

And bring the unripe apples to perfection ! 
That is the law that Nature's self discloses 
And that our finite being presupposes. 

But God avert from him the faith abhorrent 
That crime in youth is growth — not only very 

Excusable — but has indeed for warrant — 
That God and nature make it necessary ! 

Pah ! — of all sickening twaddle, most pernicious 

Is this that virtue must a-first be vicious ! 

No doubt to rise from fall is very noble, 
But nobler is it never to have fallen ; 

The soul that never finds in sin its double 
And counterpart — in which the evil pollen 

Can ever sprout — is of a better species 

Than that which wooes it with unholy wishes. 

The character I do not undervalue, 

Which strife with sin solidifies and fixes, 

And men may pass from brothel and seraglio, 
More rugged for the seams and cicatrices — 

'Tis claimed as true — I grant it may be possibly, 

And Vice defends herself quite plausibly. 

The cant of dowagers and dowaged graces 
May designate that virtue, soft and spooney 

That soils not equanimity nor laces, 

Nor scouts at honesty and matrimony, — 

Some people fancy snakes, and some there are lick 

Their lips at assafcetida and garlic, 



June. 573 



I own a liking for a milder diet — 

The innocence of women and of maidens, 

The hush of rustic life and Quaker quiet, 
Music that gentle passes to its cadence •. 

Commotion for commotion's sake, the usance 

That makes excitement custom is a nuisance ! 



JUNE. 



A GLORY apparels the corn ; 

The meadow lark carols the morn ; 
The dew glistens over 
The grass and the clover ; 
'Tis June — and the Summer is born ! 

The radiant Hours adorn 

With clustering flowers the thorn ; 

The soft breezes hover 

The grass and the clover ; 
'Tis June — and the Summer is born ! 

And Meg with her kirtle betorn, 
And wreaths from the myrtle beshorn, 

Is chasing the plover 

And partridge to cover! 
'Tis June — and the Summer is born ! 

A maid, and the heiress of Lome, 
She flyeth the terrace in scorn, 

To trample, the rover, 

The grass and the clover, 
'Tis June — and the Summer is born ! 



574 RIPPLE MARKS. 



The shepherd is blowing his horn : 
She laugheth his wooing to scorn : 

Nor leaves, for a lover, 

The grass and the clover, 
In June, when the Summer is born ! 

Her dress is bespattered and worn ; 
Her tresses are scattered forlorn : 

She sleepeth : above her 

The grass and the clover ! 
Ah, June ! When the Summer is born ! 

Ah, Shepherd ! that nothing can warn ! 
Ah, vows ! that in passion are sworn ! 

Ah, Love ! to discover 

The grass and the clover ! 
She smiles ! and the Summer is born ! 



POMONA. 

Dedicated to Mrs. E. Phillips. 

T \J HEN the poets and heroes of Grecia were dead, 

Her temples deserted, her deities fled, 
Pomona, the lovely, skipped over the main 
To the wilds of the west, for a refuge and fane. 
Pomona ! Pomona ! Pomona ! 
The Pride of the Plain ! 

From San Bernardino the Dawning looks down, 
And flings to the darling his sceptre and crown, 
And the Maids of the Morning are eager to gain 
A glimpse of Pomona, the Pride of the Plain ! 
Pomona ! Pomona ! Pomona ! 
The Pride of the Plain ! 



SPADRA. 575 



And the strong Cucamonga with granite hath barred 
The gate, where he standeth as warder and guard 
To the fountains of crystal that treasure the rain 
For Pomona, Pomona, the Pride of the Plain ! 
Pomona ! Pomona ! Pomona ! 
The Pride of the Plain ! 

And the monk, San Antonio, vainly hath hid 
His eremite cloister, the mountains amid. 
Though so holy and saintly, he cannot refrain 
From a glance at thy beauty — thou Pride of the Plain. 
Pomona! Pomona! Pomona! 
The Pride of the Plain ! 

And the far San Jacinto and stern Temescal 
Shall haste to acknowledge them vassal and thrall ; 
And their canons be crowded with many a wain 
For Pomona, Pomona, the Pride of the Plain. 
Pomona! Pomona! Pomona! 
The Pride of the Plain ! 



SPADRA. 

Dedicated to Mrs. E. L. Martling. 

^yHEN around the mountain parapets the storm 
clouds rally, 

And the trumpet of the tempest pipes and trills, 
As the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley 

Is our Spadra in the shelter of the hills, 
From the strife and din, of the storm shut in, 

Like an oriole asleep among the roses, 



$76 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Or a babe at rest on its mother's breast, 
In security and beauty it reposes. 

As Alfalfa in the beauty of her greensward alley, 

When her bosom to the Summer throbs and thrills, 
As the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley, 

Is our Spadra in the shelter of the hills, 
With her homes serene in their arbors green, — 

Fairy isles amid the laughing barley billows, — 
And the crystal play of the San Jose, 

As it ripples in the shadow of the willows. 

When above the sleeping elephant the stars keep tally, 

And the dew upon his rocky brow distils, 
As the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley 

Is our Spadra in the shelter of the hills, 
From the silence deep of his dreamless sleep, 

In her peril he would waken at a warning, 
And his phantom guard keepeth watch and ward, 

Till the meadow lark is carolling the morning. 

From the turreted Sierras when the fierce winds sally, 

And the Winter worketh ruin as he wills, 
As the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley, 

Is our Spadra in the shelter of the hills, 
From the strife and jar of the world afar, 

Like an oriole asleep among the roses, 
Or a babe at rest on its mother's breast 

In security and beauty it reposes. 



THE MINER. $77 



THE MINER. 

TP in the mines, in the canons gray, 
I have been working for many a day, 
And bring these specimens to the assay. 

Maybe I've struck a workable lead ; 
See that sparkle in there like a bead, 
Nearly as big as a cardamom seed ! 

" Mica ? " Oh, I know better than that ! 
Gold, if anything is, that's flat ! 
Leave it to any one ; bet you a hat f 

Stranger, I do consider you're sold, 
What I know, I know, and needn't be told 
You can't cheat me in the color of gold. 

" How does it pay ? " That's hard to tell : 
Some stop digging after a spell ! 
Others are doing remarkably well, 

Passably well. For I must confess 
There's very few have any success 
Like the placer days of old Queen Bess. 

Tennyson, he is an Englishman, 
Who gets out gold if any one can, 
And shows the color in every pan. 

And there's Longfellow, who, by reports, 

Lit on a vein of paying quartz 

That just turns out the handsomest sorts, 



578 RIPPLE MARKS. 

Holmes and Lowell have struck it thick, 
And are working away with spade and pick, 
And bring out nuggets at every lick. 

Some are making it pay ! Why, sir, 
Up in the mountains, where we were, 
There was a Quaker — Whittier — 

Every thing on sea and land, 
Field and forest, and rock and sand, 
Turns to gold at the touch of his hand. 

Yes, there are some that make it pay : 
What do you think of my mine, I say ! 
I can't stand and talk all day. 

" Just a little gold," you say, 
" A little color among the gray, 
But hardly enough to make it pay ! " 

Back I go, through gorge and glen, 
I'll just go to mining again, 
I am sick of cities and men. 

Back I go, from the city slums, 

Back to the pine trees' scented gums, 

Back where the bee in the sagebrush hums, — 

Where the dark-eyed doe the cienega crops, 
And the bear in the gray of the morning stops 
To look at me through the chaparral tops. 

Why ! I'd rather starve in the mines, 
Camping out there under the pines, 
Where the grace of the morning shines ; 



CORN. 



579 



And from the mountain's snowy crown, 

Flows a river of crystal down, 

Like the stream from the great white throne ; 

Rather starve where midnight brings 
Thoughts of higher and better things 
Than live king among you kings ! 



CORN. 
r^ ORN! — 

Of the summery sunshine born ! 
How it flashes and smiles in the morn I — 
In its beautiful glint 

Yellow and golden, 
Like coin of the mint, 

Burnished and molden ! — 
Or as the lichens creamy, 

That shimmer and shine 
Upon the weird and dreamy 
Ruins above the Rhine ! 
But better than golden 
Coin, or than olden 
Castles, lichened with legend and story, 
Is yellow corn, 
Of the sunshine born, 
And radiant with glory 
Brushed from the burnished plumage of the Morn ! 

How in the furrowed lands, 

Where the plow his screed hath writ, 



580 RIPPLE MARKS. 

From patient tiny hands, 
The wee maiden droppeth it, 
Grain by grain, 
Like a fairy dropping rain ; 
And the smiling husbandman 

Follows after with his hoe, 
Covering over, row by row, 
Working, working, as he can, — 
For he holdeth laziness in scorn, — 

Working hard, as he must, 
But his trust 
Shall have recompense in usury of corn, 

How in its pride it stands, 
Ranked, in the low alluvial lands, 
Or, on the uplands growing, 
In the summer breezes flowing 
Like the waves of a tropical sea, 
Or the nodding of tropical birds, 
In its green, 
And its sheen ; 
Or like mellifluous words 

Sung to a low, sweet melody ; 
Over the hillsides winging, 
As if a god were singing, 
And all his fancies, springing 
Into glad life, would write 
The ineffable delight 
Of joyous being, 
For mortal seeing, 
In the bright 



CORN. 58 r 



Leaves of the beautiful corn ! 

Bright as the hieroglyphic 

Traced by the beatific 
Creatures, by summer winds on summer clouds up- 
borne ! 

O, the glory of the corn ! 

Shooting upward from the plain, 
Shooting up, as it were borne 
By a generous disdain 

Of a mean and lower growth, 
To refuse, as ever doth 
Every soul of noble birth, 
To abide upon the earth ! 

Still it groweth fair and tall, 
With a grace imperial, 
As the canes in southern brakes, 
Or as lakeside tamaracks, 
Till the highways are inwalled 
With its pillared emerald. 

O, the glory of the corn ! 

In its radiant apparel, 

Rich with emerald and beryl, 
Like to those by ladies worn 

In royal courts, with facile 
And dainty undulations, as they move 
To the suggestion of caprice or love ! — 
So princely is it decked with scarf and tassel ! 

When the ear is in its milk, 
Then the corn, 



582 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Droops the tufts of shining silk, 
Radiant, like the beards unshorn 
Of knights enchanted 

Over their midnight wassail, 
In some elve-haunted, 

Spell-entrammeled castle : 
Or as the moss that floats 
In spicy winds, and glasses 
Itself in blossom-banked lagoons and lucid moats 
Of bosky and tangled morasses, 
In solitudes 
Of Southern woods, 
Where sound of human footfall never passes. 

O the glory of the corn 

In the glory of the morn ! — 

As the glory of the Mist 

When her robes of spotless lawn, 
And her flashing neck and wrist, 
Hath the Dawn 
Jeweled with rosy knops and sprays of amethyst. 

How it lights the fields afar 
With a luster like the spar, 
Alabaster fair, that paves 
Grottos of gem-lighted caves 

In the realm of faery ; 
Or as lily-crested waves 
Disporting on a summer sea. 

In the dusky and russet autumns, 
All along the fertile river bottoms, 



CORN. 583 



And under shadows 
Of fringing poplar palisadoes, 
The sun rejoicing poureth down 

Ripples of light from his golden horn, 
Upon the crisp and brown 
And tremulous corn ! 
Till every husky fold, 

And every wrinkled leaf, 
Is covered with molten gold, 
That breaks like billows rolled 
On a fringing coral reef ! 

And when in barn and bin, 
The grain is gathered in, 
And piled in masses lies 
In cribs and granaries, 
Then do swains and maids begin 
To strip the husk away, 
And many a rustic play 
Its race coeval with the labor runs : 
And many a jest 
Gives toil a zest, 
And serves the more to redden 
The blushes of the maiden, 

Simple and coy and young, 
Who finds a ruddy ear among 
The golden and the bronze ! 

Of all God's gifts to man, 

Ere man from Eden was a waif forlorn, 
None was there better than 

Beautiful corn. 



584 RIPPLE MARKS. 



Nor was it held misdeed 

Upon the toothsome grains to feed ; 

And whoso took thereof, 

Took naught to waken love 
Of evil, or that could to sinfulness mislead. 

Unlike that baleful fruit, 

Whose inconsiderate pursuit 

To disobedience betrayed 

Our earliest mother Eve, and made 

Her heed the unloyal question 

And cunningly contrived suggestion 
Of Evil incarnated in the brute ! 
Nay, thou dost only bless, 

For thou wast altogether good, 
Thou, lithe embodiment of healthfulness, 

And queenliest of all the cereal sisterhood. 



POWERS' GREEK SLAVE. 
1880. 

A S if, in grief of chains and modest shame, 
-^ Thy soul alarmed had fled, and left in haste 
The immaculate alabaster, as the chaste 
Spirit's expression : — thus thy form remains 
Type of the soul, sainted and free from pains ; — 
The record of its sorrows all erased, — 
Uplifted from the terror that abased 
And crushed it to the earth !— the dread of stains 
Unutterable ! Ah me ! I could desire 
That thus might I, transfigured and uplift 



WHISPERS. 585 



By touch Divine, in crystallizing fire, 
Forevermore be pure, as is the drift 
That on the Alpine summits still is higher — 
Nearer the skies ! — if God would grant the unspeak- 
able gift! 



THE TRAIN. 

C ILENTLY through the blooms the railway train 
Is moving ; visible although envailed 

By the blue drapery from the mountain trailed ; 
And yet so distant that our ears we strain 
And stay our steps, and hush our breath in vain 

To catch the rhythmic pulsing of the wheels. 

Thus on the spirit's vision, when the seals 
That shut the sense are broken, looms the chain — 

The silent caravan of shades that glide 
Through the eterne — death-led — and not in gloom 

Or grief, but like the retinue of a bride, 

Passing in matchless beauty all the bloom 
Of Calif ornian plains ! But near — O, near ! — 
Near, and serene and blest, be ye to us most dear ! 



A : 



WHISPERS. 

ND the breezes have whispered to me 
Of an immortality — 
Of a wonderful book that saith 
That Christ hath abolished death, 
And ushered eternal morn ; 
And I from the breezes have caught 



586 RIPPLE MARKS. 

The report that an oracle saith 
That Christ hath abolished death. 

And well do I know if a man 
Be dead he shall live again 

And Death shall open his den, 
And Decay shall withdraw his ban,- 
By a light from the world unseen 
I know that life shall be, 
And immortality — 
Bought by the Nazarene ! 



MOUNT SAINT ANTHONY. 

f~\ NOBLE browed, and pallid browed, whose eye 
^^ All patience, still upturneth to the stars, 
And through the abysmal of eternity 

Watchest the wheeling of their crystal cars. 

Temptation can not reach thee now, nor pass 
The perils of the canon to the height 

Where pearly gateways, and the sea of glass, 
Through vistas endless flash the blinding light. 

Thou hast no more a longing to return 

To the low earth from whence thou didst arise ; 

Dead to the world, thy passions do not burn 
Fresh at the thought of passion-lighted eyes. 

Yet untold anguish thou didst bear at first, 
And purgatorial fires thou didst endure, 

In the far eons, ere the earthquake burst, 

And bore thee heavenward, transformed and pure :- 



MOUNT SAINT ANTHONY. 587 

When in thy crypt thou wast recluse from all, — 
Hid in the covert of thy saintly cell — 

By spurred Sierras — with a buttressed wall, 
Stern, adamantine, and impregnable. 

The knotted veins upon thy forehead speak 

Of suffering ; and the wrinkles that are wrought 

Into thy flesh by chiseling Pains, that wreak 

Their passions on thee, mid the lines of thought. 

Because against temptation thou wast proof, 
And from the world fled to a hermit's cell, 

God hath enlarged thy cell, and all its roof 
Is tracery, inlaid of gold and shell. 

Because thou fledst the amorous dalliance 

Of mortal loveliness, a rosy cloud 
Of angels thine enraptured soul entrance 

At eventide, and to thy vigils crowd. 

Because thou grudgest not thy penance hard — 
Thy couch, the granite ; and thy drink, the snows — 

Glimpses of bliss superne are thy reward, 
And Love, such as in seraph bosoms glows. 

So watchest thou, from passion all withdrawn, 
With face immovable, fixed upon the skies, — 

Watchest and waitest till Immortal Dawn, 
Sandalled with light, athwart the ether flies. 

So watchest thou the hosts whose crystal cars 

Course the blue heights on wheels that flash and 
burn — 

Watchest until the golden gate unbars, 
Thee to admit into the halls eterne ! 



588 RIPPLE MARKS. 



DEATH. 

[This poem was written but a short time before the author's death.] 

>^PIS evening and the shadows fall ; 

-*- Along my weary way I pace : 
I travel toward yon mountain wall ; 

My roadway stretches to its base. 

Its toppling cliffs appalling frown : 
And spectral mists, as phantoms fell, 

And giant crags are looking down, 
Gloomy, severe, and terrible. 

Now are its outlines grim and black 

Against the starred and azure heights, - 

A harbor island's rugged back, 

Thrust dark against the city lights. 

Dark, dark upheaves the mountain bar, 
Terrific, 'twixt the sky and me ! 

Nor can I tell if near or far 
Its adamantine wall may be. 

Yet shall I tread yon heights sublime — 
Grim be the gates, but fair the way, 

And I shall sleep, to wake and climb 
The canon, at the break of day, 

For, Oh ! I can but hope that when 
I reach the wall — I can but hope — 

Some shaded pass — some watered glen — 
Upon my gladdened eyes shall ope, — 



FINIS. 589 



Some canon, whence my feet shall climb, 
Through darkness and the veiling mist, 

Far, far above the plains of time, 
To walk serene the amethyst 

That I, on sinless wings upborne, 

Shall reach the peaks, that in the blue 

Signal their splendors to the morn 

That comes in bursting glory through I 

That with the purer atmosphere 

My spirit shall be all aglow, 
And shall behold — O clear and near ! — 

The plains, the groves, the homes below. 

That I upon some holy crest 
The awful presence shall adore ; 

And rest in converse with the blest, 
Upon the heights forevermorei 



FINIS. 



O 



GENTLE — gentle Sands, that from the reach 
Of lofty hills come down to kiss the Sea, 
And still can smile when in his passion he 
Casts you with slime and kelp upon the beach : — 

O gentle — gentle Sands, that let the Waves 
Write all the story of their wild unrest 
Upon the tablet of your patient breasts, 

By Love scarred deeper than the burin graves : — 



590 RIPPLE MARKS. 

O gentle — gentle Sands, that front the Seas 
When in their wrath they break upon the land, 
And dare the fierceness of the surge withstand 

With soothing touch and whispered melodies : — 

O gentle — gentle Sands, that all the marge 
Of the encircling ocean, with the light 
Of hearts translucent, gladden and make bright* — 

So womanly your spirit and so large : 

O gentle — gentle Sands : — It is a thing 

Most beautiful, thus broken and crushed to lie, 
To make the world the happier thereby ! 

To bear the wrong : — to suffer, and smile, and sing. 



The Life of Dr. Charles Jewett, 



By WM. M. THAYER, 

Has been received with the most remarkable interest. 
The demand for it up to the time of preparing this cir- 
cular (some two months since the first edition was issued) 
has, with scarcely a day's exception, surpassed our ability 
to supply the books, one edition after another being 
called for more rapidly than we have been able to turn 
out the books. Out of the many hearty commendations, 
we give a few extracts. 

From Judge Crosby. 

" Lowell, Mass. 
" I read your book on Dr. Jewett at once, but have too long 
delayed telling you how much I have admired it. As a biography 
it is unique ; it reads so much like a novel ; is dramatic and keenly 
discriminating. You have given the doctor great force of charac- 
ter, great breadth of intellectual power, and inimitable philan- 
thropy. What irrepressible zeal for right and righteousness ! What 
elasticity under disappointment! What bravery and strategy, as 
well as ability, to meet the foe in all outward demonstrations, a? 
well as to rout him in every new hiding-place ! You have made 
him the most perfect Yankee on record, semper fiaratus for every 
labor and every turn of tide in life's voyage. He was a remarka- 
ble man, and your delineation of his character makes you also 
remarkable. Your work has been admirably done, and must give 
joy to all friends of the temperance enterprise : and, more and bet- 
ter than all, will be a great comfort to Mrs. Jewett." 

From Hon. Neal Dow. 

" Portland, Me. 

"I have this moment finished reading Dr. Jewett' s memoir. It 

seemed to me, as I was reading, that I was living over again the 

many pleasant profitable hours that I have passed in his company. 

It was with moistened eyes that I seemed to be listening to his 

I 



LIFE OF CHARLES JEWETT. 



dear voice again, and drinking in lessons of love to God and de- 
votedness to God's will, and patience and persistence in God's 
work. It is an admirable book that jou have written, all the more 
skilfully done, that you have everywhere in it put the doctor for- 
ward to speak and to act, so that we seem to be seeing and hear- 
ing him throughout as he was in his lifetime. 

"In looking back now, I am oppressed with the thought that I 
did not love and revere him enough — his great intellectual power; 
his wonderful self-abnegation; his entire devotion to God's work, 
which he made his life's work; his abounding affection to his 
friends; his love for all mankind, and the sweet simplicity of his 
manners and his singleness of heart 1 Dear friend, we shall never 
look upon thy like again." 

Prom Rev. L. Griggs, D.D. 

Bristol, Conn. 

" The ioth of last month I received a copy of your memoir of 
Dr. Jewett. I have read it aloud to my family, and we all have 
been deeply interested. There is not a dull page in it. I am 
aware you had a good subject; but a house may be full of good 
things, and all in vain, unless there be a good cook to use them. 
The material was abundant and excellent, and the use made of it 
has been most judicious and happy. You must have known the 
doctor most thoroughly, and loved him like a brother. 

'•The volume you have so skilfully prepared, and the publisher 
has sent forth in such good paper, fair type, and substantial bind- 
ing, will not only serve to perpetuate the name and memory of 
our departed friend, but also greatly subserve the cause to which 
his life was devoted. I hope arrangements are made for canvass- 
ing every part of the wide field in which the doctor labored." 

From Zion's Herald, Boston. 

" We have heretofore announced the preparation of a Life of the 
late Dr. Jewett, by Rev. Wm. M. Thayer. The work is now com- 
pleted, and neatly published in a stout i2mo. of 464 pages. Dr. 
Jewett has left no peer in the field to which he was divinely called. 
His addresses were not dramatic performances, but were crowded 
with thought, were full of instruction, and always enlivened with 
the rarest wit and humor. His life was full of incident. The 
writer has availed himself to the utmost of his materials, and has 
made a peculiarly interesting and profitable volume." 



LIFE OF CHARLES JEWETT. 



From Geo. D. Chamberlain. 

" Cambridgeport, Mass. 

" I never quite seemed to realize that Dr. Jewett was dead until 
I took the book in my hand and sat down to read it. As I read 
along, it came to me, as never before, the loss which the cause of 
Christ and humanity had suffered in the death of this noble 
worker. 

" I wish the book could be placed, not only in every Sabbath- 
school library, but in the hands of every young man, that they 
might learn therefrom the traits of character which make a man 
truly great. It certainly must stand very high in our temperance 
literature, and could but grace any private library." 

From the Christian Register, Boston. 

" Here looks out on us the face of the genial, witty, clear- 
headed, true-hearted doctor, just as he looked when he passed 
through all these States, a power for righteousness. A model 
New Englander, rising in the world by force of character, and 
never willing to rise alone; dowered with gifts that made it easy 
to learn, to teach, to act, and to enjoy; a child of the sun. himself 
luminous; a knight without fear and without reproach. His 
friend and biographer has allowed the incidents of his life to tell 
their own story, utilizing to the best result whatever could be 
reached in letters, newspapers, and the memory of survivors. . . . 
We can only hope that in thousands of families this volume will 
give out the bright, good man's contagion of healthy, happy hu- 
manity, and his hearty hatred of all that degrades our kind." 

From the Christian Mirror, Portland, Me. 

" Nobody who ever made the acquaintance of Dr. Jewett failed 
to find in him a most genial Christian gentleman, witty, unselfish, 
and enthusiastic to the great reform with which he had identified 
himself. It does one good to trace out a life like the one here 
exhibited, giving us new faith in our race and in the power of 
moral truth to mould the characters and history of men. 

" Mr. Thayer has done well in deriving his material for this 
work so largely from the words of its subject himself. The doc- 
tor was full of anecdote; and one scarcely knows which most to 
admire in his speech, the power of his logic, or the skill with 
which he graced it with humor and fancy. Every page of the 



LIFE OF CHARLES JEWETT. 



memoir is aglow with anecdote and incident, making the book 
throughout as interesting as a novel. It ought to have a wide cir- 
culation among the friends of temperance, and do much to carry 
forward that great work to which its subject was all his life so 
ardently devoted." 

From the Evening Press. Providence, R. I. 

"Dr. Charles Jewett was the great apostle of the temperance 
reform, and probably the ablest lecturer, as well as the most inter- 
esting, ever identified with that cause in New England. He was 
well known and highly respected and beloved by thousands in 
this State, in Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, Connecticut; in 
New York, Illinois, Minnesota; in fact, his labors were confined to 
no particular section. He had an endowment of peculiar and 
effective gifts, and he consecrated them all to the service of hu- 
manity. He was keen in wit, wonderful in impersonation, and 
carried his audiences captive by his brilliant appeals. 

"The compiler of his life has, in this volume, portrayed the 
life of his friend with fidelity and truth. He has embalmed our 
old friend, Dr. Jewett, in type, and thousands will recall the man, 
his nature, and work, while they read. Of such men the Scrip- 
ture saj'ing is pertinent : ' Their works do follow them.'" 

From the Sentinel, Franklin, Mass. 

"A careful reading of the life of this wonderful man, by Rev. 
Wm. M. Thayer, revives in the mind of the writer, as it doubtless 
will in the mind of other of his contemporaries, the whole history 
of the great battle of fifty years against the demon of intemperance. 
I have read some works of history, romance and biography, but 
can truly say this work has been, almost from beginning to end, 
more fascinating than anything. I have ever read. The story of 
his eventful life has been portrayed by a master's art. 

" Mr. Thayer has done great service to a good cause, and hon- 
ored in the very felicitous and skillful preparation of this book 
one of its noblest advocates. It deserves a place in every public 
and Sunday-school library no less than in the family circle. 

"Apart from the specialty to which Dr. Jewett devoted his life, 
this work portrays elements of his character which make it very 
attractive and useful to all, and especially to the young. It is the 
best boys' book that Mr. Thayer ever wrote, to our knowledge, if 
not as good as any man ever wrote." 



LIFE OF CHARLES JEVVETT, 



From the Register, Sussex, N. J. 
"The author traces Dr. Jewett's precocious boyhood, his early 
hardships and his struggles for an education, his success as a phy- 
sician, his pioneer life in the West, his great work for temperance, 
his wit, humor, and tact, in all the relations of his varied and 
busy life, making a book as exciting as the most thrilling novel, 
and yet elevating and inspiring." 

From the Reporter, Medfleld, Mass. 
" Dr. Jewett's life was intensely useful and interesting. Mr. 
Thayer's work leaves nothing more to be desh-ed. Whoever com- 
mences it is sure to read the volume through without skipping 
a line. It is very handsomely printed on thick, tinted paper, and 
adorned with a wonderfully good likeness of Dr. Jewett." 

From the New Jersey Herald, Newton, N. J. 
"The author has traced with a master-hand this active and 
varied life.'' 

From the Apollo, Belvedere, N. J. 

"The book is written, printed, and bound in fine style, and is 
selling at figures within reach of all." 

The Life of Dr. Charles Jezvett is written, with the co-operation 
of his family, by his intimate friend, the %vcll-knozvu author, Wil- 
liam M. Thayer, and embellished with a fins steel portrait of Dr. 
Jczvett, and other illustrations. Extra large 12 mo., 464 pages. 

In extra cloth, gold and ink stamp $1.50 

In half morocco, library edition, sprinkled edges, . . . $2.00 

Sold by Subscription only by our Authorized Agents. 

JAMES II. EARLE, Publisher, 

20 Haioley Street, Boston, Mom 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

IBB I 







